All the Long Summer Page 8

  "Thank you !"

  Her sarcasm earned no more than a brief grin, then he cocked a questioning brow at her as he sat facing her across the corner of the table. "Grandmama says you have something you want to ask

  he said, and Isa frowned.

  She would much rather Lady Carmichael had let her broach the subject in her own time, but now that the matter had been raised there was nothing she could do but ask him about taking her into Sherwell with him. "I'm having a whole day off," she began, and again that curious brow flicked upwards.

  "Oh, are you?"

  She had to admit that she had for the moment forgotten he was her employer in fact, but she had

  considered Lady Carmichael's permission sufficient, since it most concerned her. "Lady Carmichael said it was all right for me to change two half-days for a whole one," she explained, and tilted her chin, looking at him through her lashes. "I didn't think it would matter to you !"

  "It doesn't !" he assured her, and grinned when she showed signs of exasperation. "That wasn't what you were going to ask me, was it?"

  "I'm going to do some shopping in Sherwell," Isa went on. "Lady Carmichael suggested that I asked you to take me, on your way to the office."

  She had deliberately worded it so that he would not get the impression that the idea had been hers, and she knew from the way he looked at her that he guessed. His brows were raised and he was looking at her quizzically. "An idea you aren't altogether in favour of," he guessed, and Isa hastily went back to her potato peeling again.

  "I would have been quite happy to go on the bus," she said, and he laughed.

  "Little Miss Independence!" he jeered. "You'd rather wait hours for a bus than ask me to run you into town when I'm going anyway! Why, Isabella?"

  "I didn't say that," Isa denied, gouging out the eyes from a potato with a certain malicious relish. "I would have asked you in time, as Lady Carmichael suggested it."

  "But not if Grandmama hadn't suggested it?" he asked, and she shook her head.

  "No, of course not, it wouldn't have occurred to me."

  He leaned across the table suddenly and covered her two wet hands with one of his, the touch of his long, strong fingers sending little shivers through her that she fought hard to control. Then he bent his head and the blue eyes looked up into her face, glistening with amusement and a hint of challenge for her independence. "Well?" he prompted. "Ask me!"

  Isa tried to withdraw from that disturbing grasp, but was cautious about struggling too hard because of the paring knife she still held, and her eyes were bright with resentment. "I don't need to ask you now," she told him. "You already know that I'm going into Sherwell and that Lady Carmichael thinks it would be a good idea for you to take me when you go to work, but I'm not going to beg, Mr. Carmichael!"

  "No, of course you're not!" He spoke softly and Isa hastily lowered her eyes again before the expression she saw in his—a glowing warmth that did strange, inexplicable things to her heartbeat and made her catch her breath. "But what makes you so determined not to ask me, Isabella?"

  "What makes you so determined to make me ask?" Isa retorted, and again he laughed.

  "Oh, that's my autocratic blood coming out," he said, and she looked up swiftly, ready to use any means she could to best him, without even stopping to think.

  "How do you know it's autocratic?" she demanded.

  The next few seconds were heavy with a silence

  that could have been cut with a knife, and Isa would have given anything to recall those last few impulsive words. Toby released her hands slowly and sat back on the table, one foot swinging, his eyes narrowed, watching her face with those quite ridiculously long eyelashes casting dark shadows on to his high cheekbones, and it struck her for the first time that she had no idea whether his parentage was known to Lady Carmichael or not.

  "So Chris Burrows has let the cat out of the bag, has he?" he asked, and Isa blinked.

  "Chris?" she echoed.

  Toby's eyes narrowed even further and he frowned, his head to one side, more curious than angry. "He always revelled in the fact that I was only an adopted grandson," he said, without a hint of bitterness. "I'm not surprised he decided to enlighten you as to the fact."

  Isa shook her head. "Well, he hasn't, Mr. Carmichael," she told him quietly. "As a matter of fact Lady Carmichael told me the day before yesterday, she said it wasn't a secret."

  "Neither is it," he agreed.

  "And I wasn't—I didn't probe," she added hastily, and he smiled.

  "No, I'll give you your due, you wouldn't," he allowed, and for a second he was silent again, seeming to give his full attention to the state of his shirt cuffs, his long hands restless suddenly. "Not that it matters," he said after a few moments. "I've been with Grandmama for so long now that I don't remember anything else, and as you say it's no

  secret that I was adopted."

  "I'm sorry." He looked up curiously when she apologised, as if he sought a reason for it, and she hastened to explain. "I mean, I shouldn't have made that—that remark about you knowing who you—I mean who your—"

  "You really don't need to tie yourself into verbal knots trying to explain," Toby told her with a smile. "As it happens I do know who my parents were and I'm quite respectable, at least in the eyes of the law if not the family. Grandmama knew my mother, she was her goddaughter, and the youngest daughter of a duke, no less, but she married, shall we say—unwisely?—and died when I was born."

  "Oh, I see!"

  One dark brow questioned her reaction, and Isa wondered who and what the husband had been who had been considered such an unwise choice. "You're impressed by the idea of my blue blood?" Toby asked, and laughed. "Don't be, little one. When I was left in the cold, cold world alone they wouldn't even own me!"

  "Oh, but that was cruel!" Ever impulsive in support of lost causes, Isa's sympathy was with the unfortunate baby in the story, and it did not yet occur to her that he was now the man who sat perched on the edge of the table opposite her. She dunked another potato into the bowl of water and began paring away thick layers of peel with fierce cuts of the knife. "I don't know how anyone could !"

  "Isabella!" He was shaking his head and he put a hand on her wrist, slowing down her movements.

  "It was nearly thirty-five years ago, child, you don't have to look so fierce about it. Not that I'm not touched by your concern for me!"

  "Not for you !" Isabella denied. "For that poor baby!"

  Suddenly he was laughing, a deep, full-throated sound that did strange things to her senses, although it aroused her anger. "Oh, Isabella," he said softly, when he had recovered enough to speak, "you're marvellous, you really are the limit !"

  Before she realised his intention, he leaned across the table towards her and kissed her firmly, full on her mouth, and she instinctively closed her eyes, while the knife she had been using slid from her fingers as she unconsciously relaxed. She made a wild grab at it with one hand and the sharp blade nicked her palm as she clutched it, making her cry out in pain.

  She stared in dismay for a moment at the blood that ran from the wound, but before she could recover herself, Toby hastily slid from the table and gripped her wrist firmly, then with his other hand in the small of her back, propelled her towards the kitchen sink. He turned on the full force of the cold water tap, then thrust her hand under it, and she bit her lip at the sudden feeling of nausea that churned in her stomach when the chill stung the cut flesh sharply.

  For several seconds Toby's strong fingers on her wrist held her arm steady in the stream of the water, and even in those circumstances she was made aware of the warmth of his body as she leaned back

  against him. After a few moments he -drew back her hand and leaned forward to look at the cut, bringing his face so close to hers that their cheeks brushed as he looked over her shoulder.

  "It's not too bad," he told her confidently, and his words breathed warmly against her neck, stirring the dark hair and sending a shiver of response
along her spine. "I'll put a plaster on it and you won't even feel it!"

  "Thank you." She had difficulty in finding her voice and his proximity was as much to blame as the slight feeling of shock induced by the accident, she had to admit it.

  The blue eyes looked at her from only inches away, and even now that faint hint of laughter lurked in their depths. "You think I'm an unfeeling brute, don't you?" he guessed. "But it was the best treatment, believe me."

  "I—I didn't think anything of the kind," Isa denied, and shivered again when his laughter warmed her skin. She looked at the now almost invisible cut on her hand and wished it felt as well as it looked. "It still hurts," she said, without realising quite how plaintive she sounded.

  "That's the air getting to it," Toby told her with easy assurance. "I'll put a plaster on it and you'll find it feels much better."

  Mrs. Grayle kept a first-aid box in the kitchen and Toby soon found disinfectant and 'plasters while Isa sat on a chair, a strange mixture of emotions churning away inside her as she watched him surreptitiously from the concealment of her lashes.

  He was unbelievably gentle as he dressed the cut and she tried not to respond to the light, firm touch of those long fingers.

  While he was bent over her hand his head was only inches away and a curious curling sensation in her stomach made her want to reach out with her other hand and touch the thick dark hair with her fingers. It was an almost irresistible urge and she shook her head hastily, quickly averting her gaze when he looked up at last.

  The glimmer of laughter in his eyes as he held her hand in his still and looked at her steadily might easily have meant that he guessed how she was feeling and was not averse to the idea. "I must remember not to kiss you while you have a knife in your hand," he said, and laughed. "I suppose I'm lucky you didn't decide to defend your honour with it!"

  "One kiss is hardly reason to defend my honour, as you put it," Isa told him as coolly as she could for a shaking voice. "You attach too much importance, to it, Mr. Carmichael!"

  Toby said nothing for the moment, but straightened up his long length and carefully put away the first aid box before coming back to stand in front of her, his hands on his hips and his feet apart in a curiously aggressive attitude. "Do you feel up to doing the rest of the dinner," he asked, "or would it be poetic justice if I carried on under your supervision?"

  Isa got to her feet, shaking her head vehemently. Being closeted in the kitchen with him for the next

  hour or so was an experience she could well do without, she felt, and she would certainly never have the nerve to instruct him in the art of peeling potatoes. "I can manage, thank you," she told him "There isn't much else to do, and I'd rather do it on my own."

  He shrugged, and it was obvious that he was no more enamoured of the idea than she was herself. "If you're quite sure," he said, and Isa nodded.

  "I'm quite sure, Mr. Carmichael, thank you."

  "O.K." He thrust his hands into the pockets of the blue denims and turned to go, looking back from the doorway with a smile on his lips. "If you have any more accidents with the cutlery," he said, "just shout and I'll come running!"

  It was too much to resist and Isa stuck out her chin as she looked across at him, the potato knife already in her hand again. "If you hadn't been here there wouldn't have been an accident at all!" she told him pertly, and he laughed.

  "Touché, little one," he said. "I'll remember that!"

  Isa half hoped that Toby would forget about taking her into Sherwell one day, although she would have to admit that if he did she would have been disappointed. She should have known that Lady Carmichael would make sure that neither of them forgot, and sure enough, one evening just after Isa had served dinner to them all, the old lady raised the subject, quite out of the blue.

  "It's tomorrow that you're doing your shopping,

  isn't it, Isabella?" she asked, and Isa glanced almost involuntarily at Toby as she replied.

  "Yes, my lady."

  "And have you arranged with Toby to take you?" the old lady insisted, while Toby caught Isa's eye briefly and lowered one lid in a broad wink.

  "The subject has been mentioned in passing, Grandmama," he said, being quite unnecessarily precise in Isa's opinion. "Nothing definite's been decided, I'm waiting for Isabella to make up her mind."

  "About going?" his grandmother asked with a puzzled frown, and he looked at Isa, his eyes glinting wickedly.

  "About asking me properly about taking her," he said.

  "Well, of course you'll take her!" Lady Carmichael declared adamantly, before Isa had a chance to speak for herself. "There's no earthly reason why you shouldn't, Toby, and you can also bring her back with you when you come home in the evening. It's unthinkable that you would refuse !"

  Toby's blue eyes looked across at her and he lowered one lid in a broad wink. "Darling, did you ever know me refuse a pretty girl anything?" he asked, and the old lady nodded her satisfaction.

  "Then it is arranged, child," she told Isa, and nodded her head, as if she was well pleased with her arrangements.

  Isa was still not happy about leaving Lady Car-

  michael alone all day, despite assurances about arrangements being made, and she suggested that she should return at lunch time instead, but the old lady would not hear of it. She simply asked for a light lunch to be left ready for her on a tray and informed Isa that Chris Burrows would be looking in from time to time during the day, to see that all was well with her.

  The identity of her standin was something of a surprise to Isa and it was evident enough to cause the old lady to comment. "You surely trust Christopher Burrows with my safety!" she remarked brusquely when Isa stared at her. "You of all people should trust him, Isabella!"

  "Oh, but of course I trust him, my lady," Isa assured her hastily, and the old lady nodded.

  "So I should hope!" she said firmly. "I have known him since he was a child and I have no reason to suppose that he will murder me in my chair while you are out shopping, you foolish child!"

  "No, of course not, I never even thought of such a thing!" Isa hastily amended any wrong impression she had given. "I just don't like leaving you all day with no one in the house, that's all, my lady. With Mrs. Grayle away as well, and Chris won't be—"

  "He'll be in to see me every hour until you come back," Lady Carmichael said impatiently. "For heaven's sake, child, don't fuss so ! "

  Isa gave an inward sigh of resignation and wondered if that indomitable spirit would ever succumb to the more usual frailties of old age. "No, my

  lady," she said.

  Satisfied that she had quelled any last-minute doubts about leaving her, Lady Carmichael gave her attention to the dress Isa had changed into after cooking breakfast. "You're going in that dress?" she asked, and Isa looked down at it anxiously.

  "I thought it seemed suitable," she said, "but if you think it's too—"

  "It's perfectly suitable," Lady Carmichael assured her, and Isa sighed her relief.

  It was her best linen dress and she had thought it most appropriate for a day's shopping, although perhaps a bit evocative for the company of her employer when he drove her into town. Its deep blue colour lent depth to her violet eyes and a soft sheen to her lightly tanned skin, but the neck was cut rather lower than anything else she owned and the shape of dress followed her own curves lovingly. A silk scarf knotted round her throat flowed down and partly hid the décolletage, but she had wondered about it being too low.

  It was a dress she had scarcely worn before, partly because Aunt Carrie had disapproved of it, although it was evident that Lady Carmichael did not share her view. She was nodding her head in a way that implied approval and there was even a slight upward curve to her thin lips. "You have excellent taste, Isabella," she told her, and Isa smiled gratefully.

  "Thank you, my lady, I only hope I can find something as good in Sherwell," she said, and the old lady pursed her lips.

  "Ah, you're buying dresses," she said, and Isa nod
ded agreement. "Then you should have Toby's help, he has impeccable taste in women's clothes, though not always in women!"

  The confidence was a little embarrassing, and Isa would rather the remark had not been made, for she did not feel capable of providing an answer. "I —I rather think Mr. Carmichael has several appointments, my lady," she told her. "And I can manage very well on my own."

  Whatever opinion had been forthcoming was ,cut short by Toby's appearance in the door of the sitting-room, and Isa actually felt glad to see him in this instance. He too gave the blue dress an approving scrutiny and smiled. "I hoped you weren't going out for the day in that little shift you cooked breakfast in," he told her with his customary frankness. "That's much better!"

  Isa thought the old lady smiled, but she was too busy controlling the sudden increase in her pulse rate to really notice, and she picked up her handbag from a chair and went towards the door. "Toby" The old lady's voice rang out across the big room clearly. "If you're not too busy during the day you could meet Isabella and give her lunch—I'm certain she will neglect to have, any at all if you don't!"

  Toby glanced first at Isa, his eyes glittering with amusement at her obvious embarrassment, then at the old lady sitting straight and upright in her chair and apparently oblivious of having embarrassed anyone. "Your wish is my command, dear heart,"

  he told her extravagantly as he followed Isa to the door. He looked down at her with his glittering blue eyes suggesting all manner of things. "Shall we go, Isabella?" he asked.

  He put a hand under her arm as they went across the hall and the gesture had a curiously possessive air about it that set Isa's heart rapping hard against her ribs, and made her legs feel quite alarmingly weak as she tried to keep pace with his long stride. The front door was already open and, as they approached, it opened further and admitted Chris Burrows.