The Master's Mistress

She would take a sure bet that none of those women had been stupid enough to fall in love with him!

She tried not to look disheartened. ‘I’ll clear away here, if you would like to get on with some work now.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded abruptly before bending to collect his T-shirt from the floor. ‘We’ll talk again later.’ He turned sharply on his bare heel and left the kitchen.

The tension left Elizabeth’s shoulders once she was alone.

But not for long, she guessed, well aware of the warning edge in Rogan’s tone that had clearly stated he would find a ‘right time’ for their conversation some time before he departed Sullivan House for good.

How could she have been so foolish? So stupid as to fall in love with a man who had no intention—ever—of falling in love? With any woman…

Rogan went up the stairs two at a time, his expression grim, his thoughts even grimmer.

So far this had been one hell of a day. That early-morning chat with Helen Baines. Arguing with Elizabeth. Making love with her. The unsatisfying conversation that had followed.

And he still had this afternoon’s funeral to get through yet!

Rogan came to an abrupt halt at the top of the staircase as he realised that making love with Elizabeth had made the ordeal of his father’s funeral this afternoon fade into insignificance.

He could still feel the satiny perfection of Elizabeth’s skin against his hands and lips. Still taste her. Still feel how good it had felt to be inside her. Good? It had been fantastic!

So fantastic that he knew he wanted her again. And again. In fact, he could imagine nothing he would enjoy more than to take Elizabeth to bed for the next day and night, and make love to her in every way he had ever fantasised making love with a woman.

Rogan, my boy, you are in above your head, he acknowledged with a rueful frown as he forced himself to continue on his way to his father’s bedroom.

Well above his head. In fact, Rogan knew he was seriously in danger of going under completely and not recovering…!

Elizabeth stood in front of the damaged glass cabinet, her eyes wide as she stared at the four books placed neatly on the top shelf. The Darwin. The two Dickenses. And the Chaucer.

Either she had made a mistake, and the books hadn’t been missing in the first place, or the burglar had come back some time in the night and returned the books he had stolen.

As the latter explanation was highly unlikely, that only left the first one. Also unlikely. Elizabeth didn’t make mistakes where books were concerned.

Which meant there had to be a third explanation…

Although for the life of her Elizabeth couldn’t think what that third explanation might be.

Did Rogan know these books were back in the cabinet?

Rogan…

Every time Elizabeth so much as thought of him she went weak at the knees. She couldn’t help remembering their lovemaking—in the kitchen, of all places. She thought of how much she loved him. Of how he was going to leave her once his father’s funeral was over and never come back. Maybe even later today? Oh, God…!

Rogan had made love to her like a man possessed—or a man bent on possession. And it had been good. So good. Wonderful, in fact. Beyond anything Elizabeth had ever imagined—and much better that any of the eroticism in the sexy vampire novels she liked to read! The reality of lovemaking was so much more amazingly pleasurable than simply reading about it.

Her breasts still felt full and achy. The nipples sensitive from the ministrations of Rogan’s hands and mouth. As for that soreness between her thighs…

Rogan had filled her so completely. So pleasurably. So excitingly! Every part of her had been alive and quivering as those waves of pleasure had surged through her.

Because she was in love with Rogan. Because—?

Busy. She had to keep herself busy, Elizabeth told herself determinedly. She had to stop even thinking about Rogan, let alone dwelling on how much she loved him.

Although she had yet to solve the puzzle of the returned books…

As funerals went, Rogan supposed his father’s had been okay. Surprisingly, the church had been full. Mrs Baines had been there, of course. Along with Desmond Taylor, his father’s lawyer. What had surprised Rogan was that many people who had once worked with and for his father had also taken the trouble to drive from London to attend. As had a considerable amount of the local people.

All of which had simply added to the ordeal as far as Rogan himself was concerned. To the point when he was now actually starting to feel ill, after almost an hour of accepting the condolences of people who actually had fond memories of his father. And probably wondered why it was that his son remained so stony-faced!

Mrs Baines, bless her, had risen to the occasion and announced that anyone who wished to come back to the house for tea and sandwiches was welcome to do so. Something that Rogan hadn’t even thought of in his need to just get his father’s funeral over and done with, so that he could leave England altogether and get back to his own life!

And Elizabeth had been there at his side during the whole ordeal, pale and dignified in a black business suit and white blouse.

‘You’re really one hell of a woman, did you know that?’ Rogan murmured huskily on the short drive back to the house for the wake. The two of them sat in the back of the car that had been supplied for the family. ‘You’ve been very supportive today, and I wasn’t exactly pleasant to you earlier this morning,’ he elaborated, as she turned from looking out of the car window to give him a puzzled glance.

Delicate colour entered the paleness of her cheeks. ‘Any personal differences between us shouldn’t matter at a time like this.’

Personal differences? Rogan wasn’t sure they had any ‘personal differences’. He still wasn’t sure what was between them!

He knew he was grateful for Elizabeth’s presence at his side today. Really grateful. In fact, Rogan wasn’t sure he could have got through the whole nightmare of it all if Elizabeth hadn’t warmly filled the awkwardness during the times Rogan simply hadn’t known what to say in answer to some of the kind comments made to him about his father.

It had come as a total surprise to him how much his father had been involved in the local community in the years since his retirement. How much affection and respect he was still held in by the people he had worked with.

‘Nevertheless, I’m grateful.’ Rogan reached out and laced his fingers with Elizabeth’s as her hand rested on her lap. ‘I wasn’t so hot, but both you and Mrs Baines came through for my father today.’

Elizabeth warned herself not to read anything into Rogan taking hold of her hand in this intimate way. He was just expressing his gratitude for her support today. Which made absolutely no difference to the slight trembling of her fingers at Rogan’s lightest touch, or the tide of physical tension that suddenly flared between them.

She moistened peach-glossed lips. ‘Rogan, I know it was Mrs Baines who took the books.’

A shutter came down over the darkness of Rogan eyes, his expression suddenly totally noncommittal. ‘Sorry?’

Elizabeth gave a rueful smile. ‘Mrs Baines was the one who took the first editions.’

He released her hand abruptly, his gaze watchful. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m not expecting you to confirm or deny it, Rogan,’ Elizabeth assured him huskily. ‘Mrs Baines came over to the house before lunch, and the two of us talked as we prepared sandwiches for the people coming back this afternoon. She told me—explained why she had done it. That at sixty she didn’t think she would find another housekeeping job. That she was frightened of being poor in her old age, and had imagined she could sell the books. That she had heard the two of us talking about the books, how much they were worth, and had thought the burglaries in the area lately would hide the fact that she had stolen them.’

Rogan’s expression was grim. ‘As you said, I have no intention of confirming or denying what you’ve just said.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘I—I just wanted you to know that I admire the way you dealt with the situation when she made her confession to you earlier this morning. Mrs Baines is so grateful to you for reassuring her that your father arranged a pension for her in his will.’

Rogan nodded abruptly. ‘It was the least I could do in the circumstances.’

Elizabeth smiled, sure that Rogan had been surprised several times today at the warmth and affection in which his father had been held by people. ‘I’m not sure if this is a good time or not, Rogan, but I—I think I should tell you that I have decided to leave Sullivan House later this evening.’

‘What?’ Rogan exclaimed as he turned sharply in his seat to look at her. ‘Because of what happened this morning?’ he bit out grimly.

‘No, not because of that,’ she denied ruefully, the warm colour back in her cheeks. ‘Rogan, whatever differences there were between your mother and father—and those differences were surely personal to them—it’s been made obvious to me today, and to you too, I believe, that other people didn’t see your father the way you did, that they held him in great esteem—’

‘Never heard the saying “street angel, fireside devil”?’ he snapped, stung by the criticism he sensed behind her comment.