Their Engagement is Announced

Griffin relaxed. ‘I’m sure my mother’s opinion—‘‘for one’’!—is of no interest to me!’

It had always amazed Dora in the past that it never had been of much interest to Griffin. Margaret Sinclair was tall and autocratic. Widowed while her children were all still quite young, she had taken over as the head of the family, seemingly without pause for mourning her husband’s demise.

Charles, as the eldest son, had been groomed for the family’s re-entry into the political arena his mother had loved so well. Charlotte, as the youngest child and only daughter, had been brought up to be a wife and mother—although she was neither of those things yet, as far as Dora was aware. Griffin, the second son and the middle child, was as different from his siblings as night was from day—his blond good looks against their darker colouring. He was also the rebel in the family, fitting into none of the careers Margaret would have liked him to follow.

It was a role, Dora had learnt after a very short acquaintance with the whole family, that Griffin nurtured and loved!

She gave him a rueful grimace. ‘How has she taken to your television career?’

He gave her a sideways glance, green gaze openly laughing. ‘What do you think?’ he drawled mockingly.

‘Oh, no.’ Dora laughed softly. ‘You aren’t going to draw me into that one!’ Although she could well imagine how Margaret had reacted to her middle child being on public television in a programme that, knowing Griffin, would be slightly less than serious. But, as in the past, Dora had every intention of keeping well out of the feud that existed between Griffin and his mother. Anyone caught in the middle of that animosity was likely to get trampled underfoot by one or both of them!

‘She’s horrified.’ Griffin cheerfully confirmed Dora’s suspicions, at the same time giving the impression—once again!—that his mother’s opinion was of no interest to him. ‘In fact,’ he continued dryly, ‘she was so angry with me when the first programme was televised that she didn’t speak to me for a month. That was the most peaceful month of my life!’ he added with feeling.

Dora gave another laugh, realising even as she did so that it was the first time for a very long time she had found anything to laugh about…

She sobered, feeling almost guilty at her humour now, with her father only dead a matter of days. And here, too, of all places, in the shop he had spent so much time in.

‘And yet,’ Dora murmured softly, ‘it’s you who she called when there was a family crisis.’ This last was said half questioningly; Margaret had always been so in control, so self-possessed, it was hard to imagine a situation she couldn’t deal with herself.

Griffin shrugged. ‘Mother hasn’t been quite her—autocratic self since Charles’s death.’ He frowned, as if he had only just realised that particular fact for himself. ‘In fact, it was that that caused the row between Mother and Charlotte.’

‘Charles’s death?’ Dora looked at him sharply.

The two brothers hadn’t always seen eye to eye, being far too different in outlook and temperament for that, but Margaret and Charlotte had both adored Charles; Dora couldn’t imagine the two women arguing about him.

‘The time-scale of it.’ Griffin nodded grimly. ‘Charlotte’s finacé, Stuart— I’m sure you remember him? Well, he’s been offered a job in the States,’ Griffin continued at her affirmative nod. ‘Which he is due to start in a couple of months’ time. Charlotte, quite naturally, wants to go with him.’

‘And your mother isn’t happy about the two of them living together?’ Dora nodded—although she still didn’t see how that involved Charles.

Griffin gave a mischievous grin. ‘She certainly wouldn’t be happy if that were the case,’ he acknowledged tauntingly. ‘Although, at twenty-eight, Charlotte is old enough to make up her own mind how she wants to live her life! But, no, Charlotte and Stuart are going to do the decent thing and get married. It was the date Charlotte set for the wedding that caused the problem. Four weeks on Saturday,’ he explained as Dora still looked confused. ‘That way the two of them will be able to have a honeymoon before Stuart is due to start his new job.’

By which time Charles would only have been dead for eleven months… And, bearing in mind Griffin’s earlier comment to her today about wearing black for a year, it all began to make perfect sense.

‘Your mother believes the wedding date is disrespectful to Charles’s memory,’ she guessed knowingly.

Once again Griffin gave her that sideways glance. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with her?’

‘No, of course I don’t,’ she answered impatiently. ‘You have a very strange opinion of me, Griffin.’ She frowned, remembering some of his earlier remarks concerning her father and Charles. ‘I’m very pleased for Charlotte and Stuart.’ She had always been very fond of the other couple; in fact Charlotte was the only member of the family that she had continued to see for coffee occasionally after Charles died.

‘Because they’re getting married—or because they’re moving far away from my mother?’ Griffin muttered grimly.

Dora shook her head at him. He really was the most disrespectful man! ‘I’m sure your mother means well, Griffin,’ she reasoned evasively; she had been more than aware, during her brief engagement to Charles, that Margaret would make a formidable mother-in-law…!

‘Are you?’ Griffin looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I wish I had your confidence,’ he added disgustedly. ‘Whatever, the wedding is going ahead as planned in four weeks’ time.’

‘How did you manage that?’ Dora wondered curiously. If his mother could stop speaking to him for a month simply because he appeared on public television in what she considered amounted to a role of entertainer, how much deeper would her response have been to Charlotte thwarting her wishes?

‘Bribery and corruption,’ Griffin bit out grimly. ‘But it’s done now, and—well, that’s why I’m here today.’ He searched in the pockets of his leather jacket. ‘To personally bring you your wedding invitation. Sorry.’ He grimaced as he finally found it. ‘It seems to have got a bit crushed in my pocket.’ He handed her the dog-eared envelope.

Dora looked blankly at the envelope, making no effort to take it. Her invitation? Not just to the wedding, but back into the midst of the Sinclair family…!

‘It isn’t going to bite,’ Griffin mocked as he still held out the envelope.

She hadn’t seen Charlotte for several months now, both of them having other commitments, otherwise she would probably already have known about the hastily arranged marriage. And it was very kind of the other woman to invite her to her wedding, but, in truth, Dora felt her own involvement with the Sinclair family had ended with Charles’s death. And the way Griffin had just breezed in here today, on the basis of delivering this invitation, proved to her she was right to have made that decision!

She shook her head. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to make it.’

‘Why not?’

She gave Griffin an irritated frown. ‘In view of your mother’s initial reaction to the wedding date, and the reason for it, I would have thought I was the last person she would expect to see there!’

He raised blond brows. ‘Scared, Izzy?’ he taunted.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Griffin,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘I was trying to be sensitive to your mother’s feelings.’

‘In view of the fact that she is never ‘‘sensitive’’ to other people’s feelings, I wouldn’t bother!’ He pushed himself up off the desk, instantly making the shop look small once again. ‘Besides, now that we’ve settled her initial—misgivings, she’s thrown herself into the wedding arrangements with a vengeance! Charlotte’s ‘‘quiet wedding’’ has been turned into a social circus!’ he explained disgustedly.

All the more reason, Dora would have thought, for her not to attend. Oh, she still had all the social attributes Charles—and his mother!—had found so suitable for her future role as Charles’s wife: she found it easy to converse with people from all walks of life, on most subjects—themselves, she had learnt, was usually a pretty safe bet for most people!—she was attractive enough, in a quiet and unassuming way, and, best of all, she was sure, there was no hint of scandal attached to her name.

She just didn’t particularly relish her role now as ‘poor Charles’s fiancée’, the object of pitying curiosity. And surely her father’s recent death was excuse enough not to accept.

‘In view of the fact that none of the family were aware of your father’s death, he was, of course, included in the invitation.’ Griffin seemed to have read at least some of her thoughts. ‘But don’t give that another thought; it will be simple enough for you to come to the wedding as my partner for the day.’

Now Dora did stare at him. His partner? ‘I don’t think so, Griffin—’

‘Well, I do,’ he returned in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Now, could you ring through the sale of these books?’ He indicated the pile he had accumulated when the elderly lady was in the shop, having put them down on the desk. ‘I have another appointment in an hour.’

Dora frowned. ‘Surely you don’t really want all these books?’

He grimaced. ‘As well as not talking to me for a month, my mother decided to clear out the bedroom she keeps for me at the house. The ‘‘clearing out’’ included throwing away a collection of classics I had had since I was a boy,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’m attempting to replace them.’

Mother and son never had really got on, Dora knew, but even so!

Griffin might dismiss his mother’s behaviour now, but she was sure he had been far from pleased at the time. ‘If you can remember some of the others that are still—missing, I might be able to get them for you,’ she offered helpfully. Books had always been a big part of her own life, and she could imagine nothing more awful than losing any of the collection she had amassed over the years, and still read over and over.

‘Thanks.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll make a list and give it to you.’

She wished he wouldn’t watch her so intently as she totalled up the books; he made her feel nervous, and she had trouble concentrating at all.

But he continued to watch her with those knowing green eyes, and it seemed to take her for ever to get through the twenty or so books he had picked up.

‘You must have had quite a library,’ she said lightly as she stacked them into carrier bags, having noted that some of them were copies of books she had in her own library at home.

‘And there you were thinking I couldn’t read!’ he drawled mockingly.

‘You’re being ridiculous again.’ She looked up at him with calm grey eyes, able to breathe again now that she knew he was on the point of leaving. ‘I am aware of the fact that you’ve written several books of your own.’

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘I’ll lay odds on there not being any of them in here, though.’ He looked about him pointedly.

She stiffed at his deliberate mockery. ‘We do have travel books—’

‘But not by Griffin Sinclair,’ he said with certainty. ‘Your father didn’t approve of me any more than I liked him!’

He was right, of course; her father had never made any secret of his disapproval of Charles’s ‘disreputable’ younger brother. Although Dora very much doubted the oversight had been deliberately because of who Griffin was; the shop simply didn’t stock the sort of books Griffin had written.

‘I told you I intend making changes,’ she replied abruptly. ‘And books written by well-known television personalities are sure to be good sellers,’ she added teasingly.

‘Very funny!’ Griffin grimaced, picking up the two bags of books. ‘I’ll see you in four weeks’ time, then.’ He strode across the shop to the door. ‘The wedding is at three o’clock, so I’ll call for you at your home at about two o’clock.’

Then she would accompany him to his sister’s wedding, as his partner…

‘Oh, and Izzy…?’ He paused at the open doorway.

She looked at him warily. ‘Yes?’

He grinned at her obvious reluctance. ‘Don’t wear black, hmm? For one thing, it isn’t an appropriate colour to wear to a wedding,’ he continued before she could make any comment. ‘And for another,’ he added tauntingly, ‘it doesn’t suit you!’

Dora sank down weakly into her chair once Griffin had gone, closing the door softly behind him. Griffin Sinclair, she decided—and not for the first time!—was the most outrageous man she had ever had the misfortune to meet.

But how strange it was that the elderly lady had earlier likened him to a modern-day pirate, because when Dora had first met him he had seemed like a man from another time to her, too.

Of course, their surroundings had added to that illusion. At least, she had felt they did then, and she had made that excuse to herself since as a way of explaining her behaviour. Whatever the reason, she had allowed herself to be cast under some sort of spell. If only for a brief time…

CHAPTER TWO

THE prospective dealer, a man with a book for sale that her father had wanted, had sounded eccentric enough over the telephone, but when Dora had seen the Devon hotel he’d recommended for her overnight stay, she had known her business visit there was going to be a memorable one.

She could have had no idea as she walked into the entrance hall, past huge open oak doors, just how memorable it was going to be!

She had felt as if she’d stepped back through a time warp as she’d walked inside the hotel. Dungelly Court had been restored, it had said in the brochure she’d picked up just inside the door, as much as it was possible to its past glory. Old paintings and huge tapestries had adorned the deep purple walls, and ornate mirrors hung on those walls too, with a deep red carpet on the floor that should have clashed with the colour of the walls and yet somehow hadn’t. And in the two rooms that had led directly off the hallway there had been fires lit in the massive grates, logs burning warmly. And welcomingly.

It had been unreal. Surreal.

‘Someone will come and see to you shortly.’

Dora’s overnight bag almost slipped from her fingers at the sound of that rich male voice. She looked cautiously into the deserted room to the right of the main doorway. At least, a room she had assumed to be deserted!

A man now stood to one side of the huge open fireplace, a man dressed completely in black, only the golden blondness of his long hair alleviating that impression of darkness.

Where he had come from, Dora had no idea, but she had been sure that when she’d glanced into the room a few moments ago it had been empty. The bar that stood at one end of the room was still closed at this time of the morning, the tables and chairs placed casually about the room were all empty too, although candles burned in holders on every tabletop, despite the earliness of the hour.

Her gaze returned nervously to the man. One of his hands rested on the huge wooden lintel above the fireplace. ‘Where is everyone?’ Her voice sounded hushed and hollow.

Understandably so—not only did she seem to have stepped back in time, but she had done so with this blond giant of a man, who now stood looking at her with cool green eyes.

‘Couldn’t tell you.’ The man shrugged dismissively. ‘Do you have a room booked? They don’t seem too busy at the moment so I don’t think it will matter whether you have or not, but—’

‘I booked,’ Dora put in quickly. ‘Miss Baxter.’

The man moved behind the bar, glancing in a red leather-bound book that lay open on its top. ‘Yep.’ He nodded. ‘Miss I. Baxter.’ He looked up at her with those compelling eyes. ‘What does the ‘‘I’’ stand for?’ He quirked one blond brow.

‘Isadora,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But my family has always called me—’

‘Izzy,’ the man put in with satisfaction as he strolled back from behind the bar, seeming to savour the way the name rolled off his tongue. ‘I like it.’ He nodded, tilting his head to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘It suits you,’ he finally murmured.

Finally, because Dora found she had been holding her breath as she waited for his next comment! And no one had ever called her Izzy…! It had always been Isadora if her parents were displeased with her, and Dora if they weren’t. But, strangely enough, she found that she liked the name Izzy. It seemed to make her sound different, and, as such, was perfectly in harmony with the surreal quality of this country inn.

‘Griffin Sinclair.’ The man held out his hand, a hand that was cool and firm to the touch, the clasp firm, as Dora discovered when she touched it politely. ‘I was named after my mother’s least favourite uncle,’ he added by way of explanation, grimacing his feelings about that. ‘Least favourite, but the man with all the money,’ he added dryly. ‘Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?’ he offered lightly.

Just listening to this man was like having arrows hurled in your direction. In his case they were arrows of information, but after Dora’s long drive here, and the strangeness of her surroundings, her head was starting to spin!

‘I’m so sorry.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I didn’t realise you worked here.’

‘I don’t,’ he assured her cheerfully. ‘I’m a guest too. But I would be happy to get you a drink.’

Dora frowned. This man had appeared as if from thin air, he chose to call her Izzy, when no one else ever had, he had been named Griffin after his mother’s rich but disliked uncle, and he’d casually offered to get her a drink as if he owned the place, when in fact he was merely a guest, like herself!

She certainly didn’t need a drink; in fact she already felt as if she were slightly drunk!

‘I’ll wait and have a coffee, thank you,’ she replied somewhat dazedly, looking about her thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it a little—odd, that there’s no one here to book me in?’ she murmured awkwardly.

‘Part of the hotel’s charm.’ Griffin shrugged dismissively once again, sitting down on one of the high stools that stood in front of the bar. ‘That’s something you’ll learn this place has by the barrel-load,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘Right down to its secret passage that leads down on to the beach. For the smugglers,’ he added as she still looked blank. ‘It used to be quite a lucrative business in these parts.’

Secret passage…? ‘I don’t suppose its source is in this room?’ Dora wondered ruefully; after all, he had to have appeared in this room from somewhere!

Griffin grinned, obviously now guessing the reason for her initial discomfort. ‘Behind the suit of armour.’ He nodded towards the niche in the corner of the room where the armour stood on display. ‘One of the panels moves. You go down a flight of stairs, and the passageway leads down to a cave that opens out on to the beach a quarter of a mile away.’

Not too keen on dark, confined spaces, Dora couldn’t see herself ever making that particular trip, so he could have saved himself the explanation. Besides, she was only here overnight. She had her dealer to see later today, and then tomorrow morning she would be driving back to Hampshire, where she lived. Which didn’t leave too much time for exploring secret passages and caves on to beaches—thank goodness!

‘I don’t—Good grief…!’ Dora breathed in a panicked squeak as the biggest dog she had ever set eyes on stood calmly in the doorway. Dog? The huge grey beast looked more like a horse!

‘Griffin!’ She moved as quickly as she dared—just above a snail’s pace!—and threw herself into the protection of Griffin’s arms.

Yes, Griffin, at least, was very real! Dora could feel the hard warmth of his chest beneath her cheek, smell the male warmth of him. Yes, he might be real—but the rest of this was turning into a nightmare!

Griffin’s arms moved comfortably about her at the same time as he began to chuckle, a huskily attractive sound that reverberated through his chest. ‘It’s only Derry,’ he laughed softly. ‘Admittedly, he looks rather fierce, but he’s actually very gentle. In fact, a pussycat!’

A pussycat! The dog looked far from gentle as he surveyed the room with a steady gaze.

Even as Dora continued to look at him in horrified fascination the dog decided to stroll further into the room, walking over to the fire before dropping his huge weight down in front of it, his massive head coming down to rest on his front paws as he proceeded to gaze at the flames, totally ignoring the two humans in the room.

Although Dora had a feeling the dog wouldn’t look quite so unconcerned if either of them should try to make a move. What sort of hotel was this?

She was very much afraid she would have to make a move of some sort. She still stood within the protective embrace of Griffin Sinclair. She was extremely conscious of the powerful warmth of his body, and could smell the male freshness of his aftershave, too, now. This man was a complete stranger to her; she would have to move!

But before she could do so a tall blonde woman, probably in her forties, strolled into the room. Everyone seemed to stroll in his hotel, Dora decided irritably; so much for efficiency of service. And yet everywhere looked neat and clean, and the fires were well tended—as were the extensive grounds outside.

Having already had the feeling that she’d stepped back in time, Dora was far from amused by the woman’s opening remark!

‘So you’ve found a friend to share your four-poster bed after all, Griffin,’ she drawled pleasantly, smiling warmly at Dora, pausing to stroke the Irish wolfhound’s head absently before stepping lightly behind the bar. ‘Can I get you both a drink? On the house, of course.’

Griffin chuckled again as Dora moved indignantly out of his arms, winking at her conspiratorially before turning back to face the other woman. ‘This is Miss Izzy Baxter—your new paying guest!’ he added, with obvious enjoyment at the mistake that had been made. ‘And she’s already turned down the suggestion of an alcoholic drink. Izzy, this is the lady who owns Dungelly Court—Fiona Madison.’

The two women looked at each other with new eyes; Fiona Madison taking on a more businesslike expression, Dora’s frown deepening. Griffin had claimed to be a guest here too, but was he a paying one? He and Fiona Madison seemed extremely familiar with each other…

‘Sorry about that, Izzy.’ Fiona gave a dismissive laugh. ‘I thought—well, never mind what I thought,’ she said briskly as Dora continued to look at her coolly. ‘Would you like to sign the register? And then I’ll take you to your room. Have you had a very long journey?’ she continued conversationally as Dora signed her name in the red leather book Griffin had looked in earlier.

A long journey? It felt, in these unreal surroundings, as if she had been travelling for years—backwards!

Fiona laughed again as she easily read Dora’s slightly dazed expression. ‘This place is something else, isn’t it?’ she acknowledged fondly. ‘My late husband spent the last five years of his life lovingly restoring it,’ she added wistfully.

Late husband? This beautiful woman, probably only forty-three or four, was a widow? Again Dora looked speculatively at Griffin Sinclair. Though the other woman’s tone had borne no rancour minutes ago, when she’d made that remark about Griffin having found a friend to share his four-poster…

‘He did a wonderful job of it,’ Dora told the other woman politely. Mr Madison, whoever he might have been, had certainly fooled her when she’d arrived!

‘Mmm,’ the older woman acknowledged wistfully, definitely giving the impression she would rather have had her husband back at her side than all the visible charm he had returned to Dungelly Court. ‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Fiona added lightly, coming out from behind the bar.

‘See you later, Izzy,’ Griffin Sinclair called after her, mockery edging his tone now—as if he had half guessed Dora’s speculation concerning himself and Fiona Madison and was amused by it!

He would be, Dora decided crossly; the man seemed to laugh at everything—but especially at her!

And, considering she usually took life so seriously, never having time in her life for the air of frivolity Griffin Sinclair seemed to possess, she found the fact irksome to say the least.