how long are we likely to be cooped up here together?’ he asked her once she had assured him that her hand, although painful, was not badly burned.
‘Well, the twins go back to university at the end of the week, but I don’t know how long the snow will last. Simon should be able to get through with the Land Rover.’
‘But he won’t arrive for another three days?’
Sorrel shook her head.
‘Well, I guess unless the snow clears, we’re stuck with one another.’ He saw her face pale and raised his eyebrows.
‘Burn bothering you?’
‘No,’ Sorrel told him shortly, in a voice that announced that she didn’t like his questions.
‘Well, something is,’ he persisted, ignoring her coldness. ‘Look, it’s a long time since I last drove through snow, and since you’ve made it plain just how you feel about my company, if you could just show me where I’m supposed to sleep …’ He saw her face and frowned.
‘Now what’s wrong?’
There was no way she could avoid it. She looked at him and said hollowly, ‘There’s only one bedroom—furnished, I mean. You see, when Uncle Giles left, Mum and Dad moved the furniture out, just leaving the one bed for Simon when he comes here during the summer.’
His eyes narrowed disconcertingly, suddenly boring into her with an intentness nothing in his previous demeanour had led her to expect. She had the odd notion that she was suddenly seeing the real man, and that the cloak of bonhomie and laid-back insouciance he had shown her before was just exactly that. It gave her an uncomfortable jolt to be subjected to that hard grey stare.
‘What do you mean, one bed?’
‘Exactly what I said,’ Sorrel mumbled uncomfortably. ‘The old bed that belonged to Gran and Gramps was so heavy that Mum and Dad left it. I brought clean bedding with me, of course, but only enough for that bed.’
There was a long pause, and then he said softly, ‘I see … You mean that because your mother assumed that Val was short for Valerie and that I was therefore female, she saw no harm in the two of us sharing a bed.’
‘She was panic-stricken,’ Sorrel told him. ‘She had no idea what to do. It was too late to get in touch with you to let you know the situation.’
‘And that’s why you’ve been behaving like a cat walking on hot desert sand, is it? The thought of having to sleep with me …’
‘I am not going to sleep with you,’ Sorrel told him indignantly, her face flaming. ‘And yes, of course I was a little … embarrassed.’
‘No need to be on my behalf,’ he told her drily. ‘You won’t be the first woman I’ve shared a bed with.’
Sorrel stared at him, almost struck dumb with anger at his casual mockery of her. When she got her voice back, she said tightly, ‘No, I’m sure I’m not. But unlike you, I haven’t—’ She broke off abruptly, but it was too late.
‘You wouldn’t by any chance be trying to tell me that you’re still a virgin, would you?’
The way he said it made it sound as though she was some kind of freak, Sorrel thought wretchedly. Oh, what on earth had possessed her to be so stupid? Why hadn’t she just kept quiet? She ached to be able to make some light-hearted comment that would cover her mistake and deceive him, but one look into those steel-grey eyes warned her that it was impossible. It was like looking into the heart of a steel trap.
‘A virgin,’ he mused, watching her. ‘And you must be what … twenty-five—twenty-six?’
‘Twenty-four, actually,’ Sorrel snapped at him.
‘You’re not bad looking. Nice body … good legs,’ he added appreciatively, skimming her body with thoughtful scrutiny. It’s hard to guess what your breasts are like under that sweater, but my guess—’
He broke off as Sorrel gasped in indignation.
‘Something wrong,’ he asked her, lifting dark eyebrows.
‘When I want your opinion on my body, I’ll ask for it,’ Sorrel told him grimly.
‘No need to get so uptight. I was just curious to know why a woman like you hasn’t had a lover. When I was your age …’
He was somewhere in his mid-thirties, Sorrel guessed, although, with the deep tanning of his skin and the tiny lines that fanned out from his eyes, it was hard to be accurate. There was certainly no grey in his hair. No discernible excess of flesh on his hard-muscled frame.
‘I have no wish to know about your sexual experiences,’ Sorrel told him frigidly.
‘No man in your life, eh? Now …’
Sorrel had had enough. ‘As a matter of fact, there is a man in my life. I’m engaged to be married, and if Andrew has too much respect for me to … to rush me into bed, then …’
She broke off as she heard his laughter. Hot spots of colour burned in her face as she glared at him.
‘Too much respect? More like not enough guts,’ Val told her forthrightly. ‘What kind of man is he?’
‘A decent, respectable, hardworking kind,’ Sorrel told him grittily. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours.’
He was looking at her rather oddly, an almost devilish glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘I see. And I suppose the sober, respectable … worthy fiancé would not approve of you spending the next three days and nights alone here with me?’
Sorrel opened her mouth to protest that Andrew would understand, and then she remembered how very narrow-minded he could be on occasions, how much importance he placed on respectability, and she swallowed back the words. He would understand, of course he would. And no one outside the family need know. The kind of speculation and gossip that Andrew would abhor wasn’t going to arise because no one outside the family would ever know, would they?
She looked up and found that Val was watching her with cool amusement.
‘Of course Andrew would understand,’ she lied, tilting her chin and staring him down. ‘He trusts me implicitly, and besides, there’s no question of anything … well, illicit. It’s just that there’s been a mistake.’
‘He trusts you, but he doesn’t desire you. Sounds an odd basis for a lifetime commitment to me.’
‘Just because sex isn’t the most important part of our relationship, that’s no reason to sneer at it,’ Sorrel told him angrily.
‘As far as I understand it, sex doesn’t form any part of your relationship,’ Val threw back at her. ‘Lord, I thought your kind had gone out with the Victorians. What do the rest of the family think about this engagement?’
‘They … they like Andrew,’ Sorrel fibbed valiantly.
‘You don’t sound so certain. It seems to me that this engagement of yours has been a bad mistake.’
Sorrel couldn’t believe her ears. She knew that Australians believed in frank speaking, but this was sheer rudeness. Thoroughly affronted, she opened her mouth to tell him that her private life was no concern of his when he forestalled her by changing the subject and saying, ‘Any chance of anything to eat? We were late landing at Heathrow, and I never eat plane food.’
He made it sound as though he travelled a great deal, and Sorrel felt a faint unwanted stirring of curiosity about him.
His clothes, now that she looked at him properly, were expensive and well-tailored, despite their casual appearance. Looking at him, it would be impossible to judge just where he was from or what he did for a living.
‘I’ve got a home-made shepherd’s pie I could heat