Sarah Randall - Forever His Darling

Okkkay…

Matt reached into the pocket of his jeans and brought out a packet of headache tablets; attempting to remove the white pills from the foil one handed.

She let out a sharp breath at his stubbornness before reaching over to take them from his hand and press out a couple of the pills before handing them back to him together with the bottle of Perrier. “Here, they’ll be easier to swallow with water.”

Matt thanked her begrudgingly and she took another opportunity to watch him as he swallowed the pills with her water. Holy moly, just watching this throat was a sensual act. Crikey, she thought, how long had it been since she’d been with a man? She started to count the months off in her head and then decided that it wasn’t something she wanted to examine too closely.

Focus, Anastacia… and not on his throat action!

It was her turn to blush now as Matt caught her staring this time as he handed the bottle back to her. Maybe staying in a house with this man wasn’t such a brilliant idea…then again, he’d said he didn’t plan on being there much and that was probably a good thing. His grumpiness grated on her. What the hell did he have to be grumpy about?

Again, she reminded herself that she wasn’t interested.

Despite the thick snow now lying on the ground, she could see the natural raw beauty of the countryside. It had a wild, untamed quality about it and she could easily imagine why such scenery had been the inspiration for Miss Bronte and the like. It was a complete contrast to urban jungles she occupied in American and more latterly, London. She opened the window slightly to breath in the cold air and rid her melancholy thoughts at her lifestyle. Instead of questioning what her chauffeur had to be cranky about, maybe she should focus that question nearer to home.

Eventually they passed a sign indicating that they’d arrived in the village of Waddington, North York Moors; Gold award winners for Britain in Bloom 2012 and 2013. It had been a long time since they had passed through any other villages or signs of civilisation. She really was in the middle of nowhere. The village itself was exactly as she’d imagined a Dickensian village would look. Quaint . A main high street with a medley of shops on each side, butcher, baker, candle stick maker, with quite a few shoppers mulling around, most of whom waved or acknowledged Matt in some way. Matt simply nodded his head or raised his index finger from the wheel in greeting. She also spotted a dress shop, all tastefully decorated for the season with cream twinkle lights and small Christmas trees above each shop building. The local pub was set back at the end of the high street with the main village Christmas tree; a huge star on the top with a wide white banner around the base attached to the railings advertised an event of some sort, but Matt had driven past before she’d had a chance to read the details.

“How far is it to the farm now?”

Matt glanced over at her and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a farm , and you’re dangerously close to sounding like a two year old.”

“So I guess now isn’t a good time to say that I really need a wee?” she threw back at him, only partly teasing. She actually needed to visit the ladies since the arrivals hall but had got distracted by Mr Gallant, Gorgeous and Grumpy.

“I can pull over. There’s plenty of bushes,” he threatened, and she wondered whether Mr Dark and Broody did actually have a sense of humour.

At least she hoped he was kidding.

“Only a few more minutes,” he continued. “The house is only a mile or so from the village, closer if you walk straight over that hill”. He bobbed his head slightly and pointed past her shoulder.

She smiled back lightly in concession. “I’ll hold it. I was never very patient and as for that…” pointing in the same direction as Matt, “I’d say it’s a mountain not a hill!”

As promised, they soon approached a large wrought iron gate featuring two prancing stallions, which formed a complete design when the gates met. Matt punched a code into a security pad at the side of the road to open the automatic gates. They entered a pebbled driveway flanked either side by large evergreen trees. A brass sign at the side of the drive announced that they’d just entered the private grounds of “Melville House and Stud”.

Ah okay, so definitely not a farm. No sheep would warrant this much security!

“So, how big is this place?”

“Eight hundred acres or so. We have thirty stallions at the moment and ten visiting mares.”

She raised an eyebrow at that and smirked. “Visiting mares?” she repeated, slowly.

They continued to drive slowly down the winding driveway and caught sight of a couple of horses with their riders in the distance and circular arenas where it looked as though the horses might be exercised by some sort of machine that walked them around.

The grounds were extensive and spectacularly maintained. This was no simple horse farm!

A majestic three story Jacobean manor house came into view through the tree line as Matt steered the car around the final bend. Its traditional symmetrical style and intricate stone masonry with mullioned windows and numerous tall chimney stacks were set off magnificently against the vivid green ivy growing on one gable end of the house, now wearing a blanket of newly fallen snow. The main door was set back into an impressive archway flanked on either side with stone columns and urns, but the main focus was directly in front of the main door where a fountain with six bubbling jets shot water at least five meters into the sky. Numerous old fashioned brass street lamps were scattered around the property and would no doubt create a spectacular illumination in the evenings. The driveway continued around to the side of the house where a detached three car garage was situated, its doors open showing a black Range Rover and Silver Aston Martin parked inside. She’d already noted a scattering of other out outbuildings throughout the manicured gardens and shrubs. It was a winter wonderland and the child in her itched to play out in the snow.

“It’s amazing,” she beamed, but he seemed deep in thought, a ticking nerve in his jaw the only give away that he was annoyed at something. She left him to his grumpiness and continued to admire the view as he parked.

***

He had to get a grip—fix the emotional walls which somehow this woman had managed to crack with her quips and teasing. He had strangely enjoyed it but he needed to fix it and quick before the bloody dam broke. He wasn’t ready to have such feelings again yet… if ever . He would be polite but, for the sake of his sanity, that would have to be it. Nothing more. Miss Darling, and the rest of them when they arrived, would be well looked after by Pip and Mrs Henderson. He needed to focus and ensure the forthcoming visit from Jumal went as planned. It hadn’t helped that as yet, this woman had not been the obnoxious, haughty woman that he’d discriminately thought she would be. Instead she had been friendly and outgoing despite his rudeness… and she’d called him on it and made him feel embarrassed and guilty at his behaviour, like a naughty child. Something only Mrs Henderson had ever done since his mother’s death.

Still. No distractions. No matter how annoyingly beautiful… or wonderfully feisty, just like he’d imagined.

Matt parked right outside the front door and quickly jumped out, grabbing her bag from the back seat and freeing George to run around in the snow in circles like a lunatic. Pip and Mrs Henderson came out to greet them at the front door when it suddenly occurred to him that he was sans Miss Tall, Tantalising and Tenacious. He slowly turned his head to see her peering out of the open car door, her brows squeezed together quizzically as she studied the snow like it posed a difficult question… which Miss Mensa could bloody well solve on her own.