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  'But you don't know where I keep anything—' her aunt began in mild protest.

  'I'll find my way around. Don't worry.' Kate was out of the room and had closed the door firmly behind her before the older woman could argue any further.

  As she crossed the hall into the kitchen she caught sight of his luggage piled at the foot of the stairs and resisted the impulse to vent her feeling by kicking the smooth pigskin cases. To judge from the variety of gaudy foreign labels which adorned them there could be few countries of the world that their owner had yet to favour with his presence. A well-used briefcase, bulging at the seams, lay beside them. Following an urge that she could not have explained, Kate bent to look at them more closely, casting a fearful glance behind her at the closed door of the sitting room as she did so. How would she excuse her behaviour if he were suddenly to appear and catch her examining his cases like some amateur detective?

  In the event a few seconds close study revealed no further information than the fact that the dictatorial stranger's forename was Nicholas and his address was a fashionable London one.

  Nicholas Blake. The name sounded vaguely familiar and she wondered where she could have heard it before. In the newspapers perhaps? He was obviously a high-powered, successful type. The gossip columns? No, despite his arrogant remarks about his success with women she couldn't see him as part of the fashionable set. They would bore him. Kate couldn't place him. That she had never met him before, she was quite sure—it would have been impossible to have encountered such a forceful character and not be aware of it in every tingling nerve of her body. Dislike him she might, but he was the sort of man whom it was impossible to dismiss as a nonentity. He would stamp his personality on everyone with whom he came into contact, whatever the situation.

  Kate entered the kitchen with a slight feeling of disappointment that she had not turned up any further facts about him. Not that she could care less about him as a man, she told herself defensively, but it would occur to anyone to wonder what such a well-travelled businessman found to interest him in such an out-of-the-way place in the middle of November. Work—or pleasure? Whichever it was it seemed urgent to judge from the speed at which he had been driving. Or perhaps that was his normal method of travelling? As if it could supply an answer to her questions she scowled resentfully at the heavy overcoat which Aunt Meg had draped across a chair to dry in front of the Aga.

  It did not take her long to discover where everything was kept and in a few moments she had filled the kettle and put it on to boil and set out the coffee cups. No doubt he Preferred some exotic blend of coffee, she thought, as she carried the tray out of the Kitchen. It would do him good to sample instant and see how the other half lived for a change!

  Aunt Meg seemed to be getting on well with him. She turned and smiled proudly as Kate entered the room.

  'Kate has a very high-powered job in London, Mr Blake,' she confided to him.

  Oh dear, the wretched man probably knew her life history by now, she thought ruefully. She hoped it had bored him profoundly.

  'Indeed?'

  The sarcasm in his voice made Kate squirm. How dared he assume on the evidence of one encounter that she was some kind of brainless idiot? She busied herself pouring coffee, wishing as she handed him his cup that she could have thrown it in his arrogant face instead. Aunt Meg, suddenly conscious of an atmosphere that she did not understand, was looking at her anxiously and she forced herself to act normally. She had no intention of giving Nicholas Blake the further satisfaction of making her lose control of herself again.

  She turned to him and asked with assumed concern, 'Will the garage be able to repair your car, Mr Blake?'

  If she expected to disconcert him she had failed. He followed her lead with just the right amount of polite response. 'Not tonight, I'm afraid. The mechanic drove out with me to have a look at the damage, but what with the weather and the fact that their breakdown truck was already out on another job, there wasn't much that could be done. They'll tow it in to the garage tomorrow morning and see what can be done then.'

  Aunt Meg clucked sympathetically. 'You weren't able to hire a car at all?'

  He shrugged. 'I was hoping to do that once I'd got my luggage from the car, but none of the firms I phoned from the garage were able to offer me anything for tonight, so I gave up in the end and decided to spend the night here.'

  'How very vexing for you! But it's really no night to be travelling,' Aunt Meg consoled him.

  'And what lucky chance led you to Glebe House, I wonder, Mr Blake?' Kate asked coldly. 'I'd hardly have thought that a place like this would come up to your high standards.'

  'Kate, really!' Her aunt was shocked at such rudeness, but the object of the attack ignored it. She wished she could have withdrawn the remark; it was so clearly what he would have expected from an overgrown schoolgirl like herself. He turned to her aunt to give an explanation.

  'I stopped at the Red Lion for something to eat, but they weren't able to put me up for the night. The landlord directed me here. He was sure you would take pity on me.'

  He smiled at Aunt Meg and, watching him, Kate was surprised at the difference it made to his face, relaxing the rather hard mouth and bringing a much-needed warmth to his eyes. If she had met him under other circumstances she might well have found him rather a pleasant man. She remembered Jane, who had considered it her clear duty to educate her less sophisticated flat-mate in the ways of the world, telling her solemnly, 'It's all very well to talk about not getting to know a man until you've lived with him. Believe me, you don't know what any man's like until he's lost his temper with you a couple of times.' Well on that basis, she supposed that she was certainly on the way to a good understanding of Nicholas Blake. If indeed she wanted one.

  He accepted another cup of coffee and chatted for a while to Aunt Meg, asking questions about the guest house and life in the country, apparently content to listen to tales of summer visitors. Apart from the occasional comment which he directed towards her he largely ignored Kate, and she was relieved that he did so. He might be capable of treating what had passed between them as an everyday occurrence, but she certainly wouldn't recover from the experience for quite some time. She could still feel the insistent demand of his mouth on hers and the effect it had had upon her.

  She roused herself, suddenly aware that their visitor was getting to his feet.

  'It's late, Mrs Carmichael. I mustn't keep you up.' He bade Kate a casual 'goodnight' as he left the room and she gave a sigh of relief as her aunt followed him to show him to his room. Thank goodness that was over!

  When Aunt Meg returned, however, it seemed that she didn't share her views.

  'What a pleasant man Mr Blake is. So appreciative of everything. He even apologised for putting me to so much trouble,' she told Kate.

  'Which was more than he did to me when I drove him to the garage.' Kate didn't feel inclined to tell her aunt that their guest had kissed her. Perhaps if she ignored the action she would forget it had ever happened. But she doubted it somehow. 'Sorry, Aunt Meg, we'll have to agree to differ on Mr Blake. I think he's a typical male chauvinist—charming when he's getting what he wants a complete bear when he's thwarted. I've met his sort a thousand times.'

  But was Nicholas Blake so easy to dismiss? she wondered, as, later that night in the cosy room that Aunt Meg had assigned her, she tossed and turned, endlessly reliving the events of the day in all their humiliating detail. She had never met anyone who had treated her the way he had presumed to deal with her. Just who did he think he was? As an efficient secretary Kate prided herself on her ability to cope with all kinds of people and keep her head. But she had known instinctively that here was a man who could not be classified as anything but dangerous to handle and she hadn't been able to cope. She went over every word of their conversation again, wondering what she could have said or done to deflate him, and came to the conclusion that nothing would have dented that massive ego.

  But did it matter that sh
e had come off decidedly the worse for the encounter? She supposed it didn't, just as long as he left her life next morning as abruptly as he had entered it and she never laid eyes on him again! Surely that wasn't too much to ask, she was thinking, as sleep finally claimed her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kate overslept the next morning. She was eventually awakened by the noise of a car backfiring outside the window. The sounds of activity from downstairs and a quick glance at the travelling alarm clock by her bedside revealed that it was horribly late. Nine o'clock already! What must Aunt Meg be thinking of her? She sprang out of bed, made her way to the bathroom for a hasty wash and, back in the bedroom again, hunted through her case for something to wear. She had hung up yesterday's once smart trouser suit in the faint hope that it might recover from the drenching it had received, but it still looked a sad wreck.

  Another crime to lay at Nicholas Blake's door, she thought angrily as she found a bright red sweater and a pair of scruffy but serviceable jeans. There was no point in dressing up if she was going to be helping Aunt Meg around the house. Besides, she had no intention of letting that man think that here was another woman who had fallen victim of his charms and who was out to attract him! Although she supposed even a man of his obvious self-conceit would be hard put to imagine that he had made a conquest of her.

  Once dressed she ran a comb hastily through her hair and then headed in search of Aunt Meg—and some breakfast—half-hoping by now their visitor would have been up and breakfasted long ago. Perhaps he might even have gone. But halfway down the stairs the hope died as she caught sight of a tall figure standing in the hall and using the phone, his broad back towards her. Nicholas Blake appeared to be giving orders to someone and, from the sound of it, his temper had not been improved by a night's sleep. Or perhaps that irritable edge to his voice was his normal manner of communicating with the rest of mankind?

  No, he was definitely angry about something. Kate halted, strangely reluctant to make him aware of her presence by squeezing past him on her way to the dining room.

  'For God's sake, stop asking idiotic questions! I'm fully aware that I'm due in a meeting in an hour.' There was a pause and Kate could hear an agitated voice arguing at the other end. 'No, I don't know when I'll be back. Well, call Sir Geoffrey and explain I can't make it after all. Find some excuse. It'll do him good to kick his heels for a while. Use your head for a change. Isn't that what I pay you to do?' The telephone receiver rocked back on the cradle with considerable force and he turned, his expression thunderous. When he caught sight of Kate, apparently rooted to a spot halfway down the stairs, his face grew, if anything, slightly more grim. Obviously she wasn't forgiven yet for the trouble she had caused him.

  He was dressed less formally this morning, his business suit discarded in favour of dark, well-fitting slacks and a black roll-neck sweater, but that air of impatient command which she had so resented the day before, the easy assurance of a man who was accustomed to getting his own way, remained. She had never met the man who could intimidate her, but Nicholas Blake seemed to manage it without even trying.

  She leapt into nervous speech.

  'I'm sorry. I was coming downstairs—I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying. I hope it wasn't anything too private. I—' She was talking too much, too quickly, and only making things worse. Why did this man give her the feeling that she had to defend herself?

  He shrugged. 'I don't normally conduct confidential business over a public phone.'

  He stood back, indicating that she should precede him to the dining room, and she complied, feeling suitably put in her place. Aunt Meg was there, busily laying out the breakfast dishes on the highly polished oak table. Kate's heart sank when she saw there were only two places set. She supposed Aunt Meg must have breakfasted hours ago. Her penalty for oversleeping was to have to conduct a strained conversation with a man whom she was beginning to dislike more with every passing minute.

  'I thought I heard you stirring, Kate,' her aunt smiled. 'No, don't worry—I don't need any help. Everything's ready. Mr Blake, did you manage to get through to your office? Your breakfast is all ready and it'll be with you in a minute.' She bustled out leaving Kate feeling strangely vulnerable.

  He seemed to have no inclination to start up a conversation. He was standing by the window, studying with a preoccupied air the view of the mellow stone cottages and the village square beyond. It was a great temptation to ignore him, but Kate, for her sins, had been brought up to be polite. She searched desperately for a neutral topic of conversation.

  'At least the weather's improved,' she ventured. An inept comment, particularly as the grey clouds scudding past the window gave no such indication. 'It's going to be brighter today.'

  He turned impatiently. 'Is it? I'm glad you think so. I've just been to the garage to check up on my car. It seems I'm stranded in this godforsaken place for the best part of the morning at the very least. I hope you're pleased with yourself!'

  The sound of the door opening checked Kate's impulse to defend herself and she went forward to take the laden breakfast tray from her aunt, who retreated to the kitchen again, promising to return later for the empty dishes. 'There's more toast, if you want it,' she said, and went put, closing the door firmly behind her again.

  They ate in silence for a while. His disagreeable mood didn't seem to have affected his appetite, she noted sourly, as she made an effort to eat her portion, eventually putting aside her plate in favour of a cup of steaming coffee. She asked him if he would like a cup, determined that he should not think that she was sulking.

  'Please. Black with a dash of milk and no sugar.'

  'Sweet enough, Mr Blake?' Kate couldn't resist the chance for a dig.

  'So I've been told.' He raised a dark eyebrow quizzically. 'You wouldn't agree, of course.'

  'No, and neither would your secretary, if the way you talked to her this morning was anything to go by.'

  He looked amused. 'No man's a saint in his secretary's eyes. Surely you know that? She thinks she has me admirably trained. It does her good to be made to realise occasionally that she has no control over me at all.'

  No, Kate certainly couldn't imagine him at the beck and call of any woman. He would be the dominant figure always, getting exactly what he required from any relationship, whether in business or in his private life. She wondered what happened to anyone who dared to challenge him. Presumably his powerful personality overwhelmed any resistance to his authority.

  'And getting her to postpone your appointments at short notice and lie convincingly on your behalf is one way of demonstrating your power over her, is it?'

  'That was hardly my fault,' he reminded her softly. 'Why all this sympathy for someone you've never met? Don't waste your time bothering about my secretary. She'll cope.'

  'You don't sound a very sympathetic boss,' she told him.

  He shrugged. 'I expect my staff to be good at their jobs and I pay them accordingly. If they fall down on the job they leave. It's as simple as that.'

  'And you're really foolish enough to think that you'll win their affection with an attitude like that?'

  'I don't particularly care what they think about me,' he said with maddening superiority. 'But I do demand hard work and loyalty from the people I employ.'

  'And do you always get what you demand, Mr Blake?' she asked him.

  'Invariably.' He spoke with an easy assurance that made her long to wipe that smug-ness from his handsome face.

  'You're mistaken. You can't buy people's loyalty. Haven't you discovered that yet? You may think that paying someone a good salary gives you the right to trample all over their feelings, but it doesn't, you know.'

  'I wasn't aware that I'd claimed anything of the kind,' he said smoothly. 'But do go on with this rundown of my faults. I'm finding it interesting.'

  Kate ignored the interruption. 'You owe a lot to the people who spend their time propping up your ego and making sure that you don't lose face in the busine
ss world and I advise you not to forget it. We're the ones who—' She broke off, aware that she had gone too far. But she meant every word she had said and didn't intend to retract them. She poured herself another cup of coffee, added milk and sugar, and stirred it defiantly as she waited for his anger to break about her head.

  'You're speaking from personal experience, I suppose?' He sounded intrigued rather than annoyed. She was conscious of his grey eyes studying her curiously, analysing her with a directness that she found distinctly uncomfortable. 'Did someone trample on your feelings, Kate?'

  'I don't remember saying that you could call me that, Mr Blake.'

  'You didn't,' he said, unperturbed. 'But after last night I really feel we're on sufficiently intimate terms for me to take such a liberty.' As he spoke his eyes raked her face, dwelling for an instant too long on her lips and reminding her of the even greater liberty he had taken with her the previous night. She winced, living again the feeling of impotent weakness as she had struggled against him, the force of his masculine body pressing against hers and the pressure of his lips on hers. He was not finished with her yet. 'Don't you agree with me?' He knew the effect last night's little episode had had upon her and he was deliberately forcing her to recall the experience. How dared he?

  'I don't think my personal life has anything to do with you,' she said, striving to be calm.

  He ignored her, musing softly, 'Whoever he was, the man who took you for granted, the experience seems to have left you rather bitter.'

  'I'd prefer to say slightly less gullible, I think, when it comes to dealing with your type.'

  'We're not all tarred with the same brush, you know.'

  'No?'