Carole Mortimer - The Unwilling Mistress

‘I’m in the area on business for a few weeks.’ Will Davenport obviously took pity on her confusion. ‘I’m booked into a hotel at the moment, but I hate their impersonality,’ he added with a grimace.

March really wouldn’t know whether hotels were impersonal or otherwise, never having stayed in one. Living on a farm, the middle one of three sisters, brought up alone by their father since March was four, there had been very little money to spare for things like holidays. And since their father died last year, that situation had only worsened.

She suddenly became aware of the completely male assessment of Will Davenport’s gaze as he studied her, from the top of her ebony head to the soles of her heeled shoes.

At twenty-six, she was tall and slender, with long shapely legs, smartly dressed in a navy-blue suit matched with a lighter blue jumper, pale magnolia skin, her make-up light, her lip-gloss peach, only the pointed determination of her chin indicative of the stubbornness of her nature.

Although Will Davenport obviously liked what he saw, his smile warmly appreciative now as he gave a mocking acknowledgement of his head at her questioning look.

Well, really!

He had literally pushed—parked!—his way into her life—and now he was looking at her as if she were the tastiest thing on the menu!

March moved abruptly to resume her seat behind the desk, glaring across at him as she wondered how much longer Clive and Michelle were going to be; quite frankly, she had had enough of trying to deal with Will Davenport for one day.

Clive Carter and Michelle Jones were not only partners in the estate agency of Carter and Jones, but they also lived together on the outskirts of town. The fact that neither of them had arrived yet had to mean that the snow was delaying both of them. More was the pity!

As the receptionist, March usually only answered the telephone and passed clients on to either Clive or Michelle. Something she really wished she could do with this particular client!

‘I’m afraid Mr Carter and Miss Jones aren’t in the office at the moment,’ she began crisply.

‘I think I can see that for myself, March,’ Will Davenport drawled mockingly.

March flushed irritably at his obvious sarcasm. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I think it would be better if you called back later and spoke to one of them,’ she snapped, grey-green eyes flashing a warning of her rising temper.

His mouth twisted. ‘You aren’t qualified to show me details of any properties for rent in the area?’

If he was meaning to be insulting—and he probably was!—then he was succeeding.

March frowned. ‘Of course I can show you the properties, Mr Davenport—’

‘Then perhaps you had better do so,’ he suggested dryly.

March drew in a deeply controlling breath as she desperately tried to resist the urge she had to wipe that confidently mocking smile right off that sculptured mouth!

The man was infuriating! Not only that, he was arrogant, mocking, and he had the cheek to—

Wait a minute… He was looking for somewhere to rent. She might just have the perfect place for him, at that!

Will wasn’t sure he altogether liked the cat-who-had-swallowed-the-cream smile now curving March’s lips. As if she knew something he didn’t…

Not that he could altogether blame her for being initially annoyed with him—he had taken her parking space earlier, something that had obviously infuriated her.

He had felt more than a little guilty about that when he’d entered the estate agent’s a short time ago and recognized her as she sat behind the desk, but that guilt had since turned to admiration. March was absolutely beautiful when angry. Those unusual grey-green eyes sparkled with the emotion, her pale skin having a blushing hue, as for her mouth—!

But he wasn’t quite so comfortable with that quietly satisfied look on her face now…

‘Tell me, Mr Davenport…’ she leant across the desk confidingly ‘…are you particularly looking for somewhere here in town, or would somewhere further out be of any interest to you?’

Will eyed her warily. ‘That depends in which direction out it was,’ he answered guardedly.

As far as he was concerned, the job he did was completely harmless, moreover he was completely professional, but he had learnt from experience that not everyone looked on it in the same way. The fewer people who knew the reason for his presence in the area, the better it would be. For the moment.

‘Over towards the village of Paxton,’ March told him lightly. ‘If you don’t know where that is—’

‘I do,’ he cut in lightly. ‘Towards Paxton would be perfect.’

March looked startled. ‘It would…?’

‘Perfect,’ he repeated mockingly.

She could have no idea how perfect. In fact, it was exactly where he wanted to be. Staying in the area would mean he wouldn’t have to keep driving out there, could blend into the scenery more easily, and so not make himself quite so conspicuous to the locals. Certain locals in particular!

March looked a little less certain now. ‘The property I have in mind is on a farm in the area, not a cottage but a studio-conversion over a garage.’

‘Sounds good.’ He nodded. ‘When can I see it? I would really like to check out of the hotel and get moved in as quickly as possible,’ he added briskly at her surprised look.

She blinked at his decisiveness. ‘I’m not completely sure that the owners would be interested in a winter let, so I would have to call them first and check—’

‘Go ahead,’ he invited smoothly.

March looked totally nonplussed now. Obviously she wasn’t used to things moving quite this quickly. Well, she would have to get used to it, because Will didn’t have any time to waste, wanted to get the job done, and then get the hell out of Dodge City. Before anyone started baying for his blood!

‘Time is money, March,’ he prompted dryly.

She blinked, her expression suddenly becoming wistful. ‘My father used to say that,’ she explained huskily at his questioning look.

‘Used to?’ Will repeated softly.

March sat up straighter in her chair, that flush returning to her cheeks, as if she had said too much. ‘He died,’ she bit out abruptly, at the same time picking up the telephone. ‘I’ll call the farm now,’ she told him curtly.

Will watched March rather than listened to her conversation. She really was beautiful. Perhaps his time in Yorkshire wasn’t going to be quite as lonely as he had initially thought. If he could get past the prejudice she felt towards him because he had ‘usurped her parking spot’, that was!

‘Will one-thirty suit you for viewing, Mr Davenport?’ March looked enquiringly across the desk at him, her hand over the mouthpiece as she spoke. ‘Even farmers stop for lunch,’ she informed him dryly as he raised blond brows.

‘Fine,’ he snapped, knowing she was deliberately mocking him.

Was it so obvious that he had been born and lived in cities all his life? Probably. But he liked what he had seen of Yorkshire so far, and this part of the county was particularly beautiful.

Although he still had that niggling feeling that there was something not quite right about the property March was sending him to see. Perhaps the farmer had a particularly fierce bull he liked to set on strangers? Or perhaps a pack of hounds? Or perhaps she just found the idea amusing of placing Will, a man obviously used to the amenities of the city, on a farm?

It might be at that; as far as he was aware, he had never set foot on a farm in his life. But there was a first time for everything, and from the sound of it, the location was perfect…

‘That’s settled then, Mr Davenport,’ March told him briskly as she ended the call, writing an address down on a piece of paper before handing it to him. ‘I’m sure that either Mr Carter or Miss Jones would be only too pleased to accompany you—’