to do it with that she suddenly realised there was no way she was going to be able to pull up the zip running the full length of the back of her chosen dress!
Puffing and panting from her excursions, she was standing there in her bra and panties feeling very hot and very flustered, and about to go and select something less difficult to put on, when a light knock sounded on the outer door.
Peering warily around a thin crack in the door, she was so relieved that it wasn’t Andreas catching her in a state of undress yet again that she almost dragged the young maid into her room in her eagerness.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she sighed, smiling with relief. ‘Do you speak English?’ she asked hopefully, and at the girl’s nod said, ‘Then will you please help me to do up the zip on the back of this dress?’
Scurrying over to the bed, she snatched up the dress, feeling the seconds ticking ever further onwards towards her next ordeal when what she really wanted to do was lie down and rest because her neck was aching after having to take the weight of her wrist in its sling all day.
Never mind all the stress and tension, she tagged on hectically as she shimmied into the dress. ‘What’s your name?’ she enquired curiously as the zip rasped up her backbone.
‘My name is Lissa,’ the maid replied shyly, probably wondering if Claire had any brains at all, when it had only been an hour ago that she had been introduced to her downstairs.
Which, Claire decided, was probably true because her brains seemed to have gone begging from the moment Andreas had dared to kiss her outside in the garden.
And remembering that right now was stupid! she scolded herself as her insides went haywire at the memory. Then she remembered the most recent scene that thoroughly outranked the one with the kiss. And the two together played merry havoc with just about every sensitive nerve she had in her system.
Oh, stop it! You don’t have time to fall apart at the seams right now! she told herself crossly. She was just slipping her feet into a new pair of grey low-heeled shoes whilst carefully feeding her plastered wrist back into its support when another knock sounded.
At the connecting door.
Both Claire and the maid turned to stare at it, and, as quick as that, the tension was back, singing across the room to ricochet off that closed door and back at her—and that was without so much as setting eyes on the perpetrator of it all!
At least he’s practising what he preaches, she noted wryly when the door remained resolutely shut. She moved to answer it—the little maid scurried in the opposite direction with a mumbled excuse.
Deserting the sinking ship, Claire thought. Then she was gritting her teeth and setting her chin before reaching for the door handle.
It was like opening the door on a hot oven. The power of this man’s newly recognised sexuality flooded over her in burning waves. Stifled by it, she could neither breathe nor think. So she just stood there staring at him while his dark eyes hooded over as they began a slow scan of her from shining head to neatly shod feet.
Then she began to notice that he was wearing the most casual clothes she had seen him in to date. The lightweight chinos hung loosely from his narrow waistline; the white soft cotton knit polo shirt moulded his well remembered torso like a second skin.
No, don’t think of that! she told herself sternly. ‘Will I do?’ she asked, anxiously searching those unrevealing eyes as they made the same journey back up her again.
To her consternation, he emitted a rather odd laugh. And his head gave a small shake as if he couldn’t believe what he was actually seeing. Then those wretched dark eyes flicked downwards again, prompting Claire’s gaze to follow them to discover what it was that was bothering him.
And at last she became aware of the incredible amount of leg the short dress had left on show! Her mind shot off, seeing through this man’s eyes what his ninety-two-year-old grandmother was going to see: a tall, leggy female who must be a brazen hussy to wear a skirt this short! ‘I’ll get changed,’ she announced, turning jerkily away from him.
‘You will not.’ His hand capturing her good one stopped her in her tracks. ‘You will do fine,’ he added softly at her frowning expression.
‘That wasn’t what you were thinking when you first saw me,’ she pointed out candidly.
To her surprise, yet again he uttered one of those odd laughs. ‘You don’t want to know what I was thinking,’ he mocked her dryly. Then, before she could respond to that, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
His hand tightened on her hand to keep her firmly beside him when she would have pulled slightly away. And like that they walked across her room and out onto the galleried landing. In silence she let him lead her, his hand warm around hers and faintly comforting, which confused her rather because she knew she should be shying right away from his touch.
At the head of the stairs he walked them beneath a deep archway that led into another wing of the house. With no natural light flooding in from the gallery, in here it was darker, and there was a different atmosphere—a hushed silence that felt slightly suffocating as they travelled along a carpeted corridor towards a pair of double doors at the other end.
‘Where’s Melanie?’ Claire asked in a hushed whisper—it was most definitely a whispering kind of place.
‘The nursery quarters are in the other wing,’ Andreas informed her. ‘She will not be meeting my grandmother today.’
‘But I thought that she was the sole reason why we are both here at all.’ She frowned in confusion.
‘My grandmother is ninety-two.’ He seemed to feel he needed to remind her. ‘She lives by a different set of social morals than you or I do. She will not acknowledge Melanie until we are married.’
Oh, great, Claire thought heavily. I am about to meet a ninety-two-year-old puritan with the kind of moral codes that will file me under the heading marked ‘loose woman’ for being so free and irresponsible with my sexual favours!
The short dress was as big a mistake as she’d suspected it would be, she realised as she stood there with Andreas beside her, his arm casually resting across her narrow shoulders now while his grandmother inspected Claire.
Ninety-two was certainly old, Claire noted as she, in turn, studied the elderly lady. She looked thin and very frail, sitting there in an old-fashioned wing-backed chair which suited the old-fashioned possessions that surrounded her.
The light in the room was unnaturally dim, made so by a tall folding screen that had been pulled across the window, and the air was so warm it was stifling, yet his grandmother was draped from shoulders to feet in shawls and blankets as if the blood in her veins must be too slow to help keep her warm any more.
But the pair of beady amber eyes in her withered face were certainly very much alert. She snapped something at her grandson in Greek. He replied smoothly.
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ the old woman scolded, switching to scathing English.
‘Resigned to my lot is the truth of it,’ Andreas threw back lazily. ‘The too old and the too young.’ He dryly marked the distinction. ‘Both of them the bane of my wretched life.’
To Claire’s surprise the old woman laughed, the sound shrilling the stifling air with a high-pitched cackle. ‘I will speak to you later,’ she informed her grandson once she had recovered her composure.
Then she flicked her sharp eyes back onto Claire’s face. Claire stiffened in response, readying herself for the blast of criticism she sensed was coming her own way next. The hand Andreas had curved around her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze as if in reassurance. He was still very relaxed himself—which had to mean something, Claire told herself as she waited.
As perceptive as her grandson at picking up other people’s vibrations, the old lady challenged, ‘Scared of me, are you? Wondering what I am going to say to you as you stand there next to my grandson