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Tess had a folder full of travel documents given to her by the agent in Yaldara Bay. And instructions that scared the life out of someone who’d travelled three times to Sydney for her nursing exams and that was as far from home as she’d ever been.
Now... she had to go through Customs in Heathrow, find the Airbus office, catch the bus to the coach station-then walk about five blocks to the cheap bed and breakfast the agent had booked for her. She had a map. It was all here. Just follow the instructions.
‘I’m being met by a driver,’ Charles said in her ear and made her jump. ‘I can give you a lift.’
‘I don’t want a lift,’ Tessa said crossly. ‘Thank you. My bus fare is paid.’
‘Very efficient.’ Charles lifted her travel documents and frowned down at the page of instructions telling her where to go. ‘Backblow Street. I don’t know about my future wife staying here.’
‘Well, you go and ask your future wife where she wants to stay,’ Tessa managed. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘But...’
‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Please...just leave me be.’
They parted soon after landing.
Charles somehow managed to stay by her side until they hit the queue for Immigration. Then there were two queues—one for British subjects and one for aliens. To her surprise, Charles headed for the local queue.
‘I’ll wait for you on the other side,’ he said, but she shook her head resolutely. Her passage through was surprisingly swift, her luggage was the first off the conveyor belt and then she was at the Airbus terminal knowsing she need never see Charlie Cameron again in her life.
She should be relieved. She should be shaking off the memory of such a lunatic with speed. Instead, she boarded her bus feeling as desolate as she’d ever felt in her life.
It must be Christine’s death, she told herself, and the fact that she was on the other side of the world from Donald. From anyone she knew.
But as she sat on the top of her double-decker bus, heading for central London, the thought of Charlie Cameron’s gentle smile stayed with her.
He was a nut but a nice nut, she decided as she buried herself in the map showing her where to go when she left the bus. She could afford to remember him with affection.
But a tiny voice at the back of her head told her she didn’t want to remember him at all. The thought of his strong arm around her—the feel of his cashmere sweater—the sheer maleness of the man—that was what she wanted.
Oh, yeah? And the thought of being wife to the Earl of Dalston? she told herself grimly. If he’s the Earl of Dalston then I’m travelling on a flying pig. Now stop thinking about lunatics and start thinking about maps.
It took Tess an hour to find her hotel and by the time she did it was still only seven in the morning and she was exhausted.
Donald had presented her with a set of baggage wheels as a farewell present. ‘Because taxi prices are sky high and you’ll be using enough of our house savings as it is,’ he’d told her. ‘Using these wheels, you can walk pulling your things behind you. They’ll make you independent.’
Which they might have if they’d been good quality, Tess thought gnmiy. The streets were rough and the plastic wheels were weak. Tess walked a block before the first wheel buckled. Then she was left with no choice but to carry everything by hand. There wasn’t even a rubbish bin where she could dump her broken wheels. She had to carry them as well.
It was the middle of June. At home it had been crisp and cool in the beginning of winter. Here it was summer. It was too early to be hot but it was humid enough to be uncomfortable, and Tessa’s jogging suit was way too heavy. By the time she stopped outside a dubiouslooking lodging house, she was exhausted.
At least she’d made it. Primrose Place. Bed and breakfast.
Tess looked up at her lodgings with dismay. She had to stay in London for a couple of nights—she needed to see her sister’s lawyer before she went north—and accommodation in the city was expensive. Donald and the travel agent had chosen this place for her from a brochure. Surely it hadn’t looked like this in the advertisement?
The place looked just plain seedy. The last primrose to grace Primrose Place had hoisted its roots and departed centuries ago, breathing a sigh of relief as it did. All that was left was a dingy, soot-covered building. The cracked window in the front was plastered with newspaper, and a smell of stale grease hung about the front door.
She had no choice. She had to stay here. Her accommodation was paid.
Tess looked up and down the street. All the buildings here—a long line of terraces three storeys high—were much the same, all slightly unkempt and grubby. The street was early-morning quiet, milk bottles standing empty on each doorstep. A large black car nosed its way into the end of the street and stopped, its engine still running. Its occupants didn’t emerge.
This was like something out of a second-rate whodunmt movie.
Maybe it was because she was very much alone that she felt uneasy. Despite the heat, Tess shivered, and rang the bell fast.
The bell echoed hollowly inside, and she heard a mass of dog flesh hurling itself against the other side of the door. Hardly a welcome. All she heard was snarling.
The snarling ended with a human curse and then the door opened. Her landlord stood before her, still in the bottom half of dirty pyjamas, bald, unshaven and his flabby white chest bare.
‘What d’ya want?’
Tess caught her breath.
‘I’m...I’m booked in here.’ She held out her accommodation voucher. The man took it, kicked the dog back from behind him and sniffed as he inspected it. Then he thrust the voucher back at her.
‘This is for tonight. Come back five o’clock when the doors open. Not before.’ And he slammed the door in her face.
Tess hadn’t cried. Not once. Not when the phone call had come telling her Christine was dead. Not when Christine’s mother-in-law had told her she was crazy to come and she wasn’t wanted. Not when she’d said goodbye to Donald.
She came very close now.
She stood on the greasy doorstep and took great lungfuls of humid air and fought for control. It was seven o’clock in the morning in a strange city and she had nowhere to go.
A hand landed on her shoulder and held.
Tess yelped. There was no other word to describe the sound that came out as she jumped about six inches in the air. When she came down to land, the hand was still on her shoulder, turning her around to face whoever it was accosting her.
But Tessa Flanagan was no victim. As charge nurse at Yaldara Bay Hospital, Tessa’s reactions to emergencies were tuned to be lighting-swift-and now was no exception.
She attacked right back.
During one very boring winter in Yaldara Bay, Tess had enrolled in a self-defence course for women. Then, after an incident with a drunk in Casualty, she’d taught the same class to the junior nurses on her staff. Over and over.
Sometimes she’d wondered whether it really would work. If she was attacked, would she be so frightened that she’d freeze?
Obviously not. Her training worked a treat.
As her attacker hauled her around to face him—before she even saw who was attacking—she thumped her fist fair across his left eye. In the same instant, Tessa’s spare hand dropped and came upward fast, crunching as hard as she possibly could. Right into his private parts.
And Charlie Cameron grunted in agony, fell back and clutched himself where it hurt most.
Tess stared... and stared some more.
‘Charlie...’
‘So who were you expecting?’ Charlie managed, groaning and bent double. ‘Jack the Ripper? Hell, Tess, you’ve damaged me for life!’
‘But...’
‘You’ll have to marry me now. I’m damaged goods. You can’t return me.’
Charlie Charlie, the Earl of Dalston. Charlie, the lunatic.
It was too much. It was all too much. Tess stared down, appalled, and the world spun around her. And finally, after all this time, the tears came.
‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry...’
Charlie straightened and stared. ‘Tess... what’s going on here? You hit me where it hurts most and you cry!’
‘I don’t cry. I never cry.’ It was as much as Tessa could do to make her voice work through her tears.
‘Yeah? And I’m Peter Pan.’ He groaned again. ‘Come to think of it, I might be. Isn’t Peter Pan the boy who can’t grow up? Any minute now I’ ll be back to singing soprano.‘ He winced again. He shook his head. ’I don’t believe this. You’ve interrupted the succession of the Dalston line with one fell fist, you’ve given me a black eye and you cry...’
Tessa didn’t stop. She couldn’t. And Charlie, the Earl of Dalston, pulled himself together. He groaned again, but in resignation. Somehow he made it up the steps to haul her in against his broad shoulders, and Tess wept and wept against Charlie-the-lunatic’s shirt for all of two minutes.
She soaked him. Tessa’s tears made a sodden circle against his shoulder, and she didn’t stop howling until the shirt fabric was almost transparent and she could feel the warmth of his skin underneath her cheek.
Somehow she took a ragged breath and pulled away. Charlie allowed her room to back twelve inches, but his hands held her shoulders, his face creased in concern.
‘I... I’m so sorry,’ she managed finally. ‘Really...I I don’t cry.’
‘I can see that,’ he said approvingly and gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s another reason I’ve decided you should marry me. Apart from needing you for self-defence. Some of us earls employ bodyguards. I’ll just keep you around. Here. Have a handkerchief.’
There was nothing to say to that. She really did need that handkerchief.
‘Blow,’ Charlie told her. ‘And before you ask, I don’t want it back.’ His smile deepened. ‘One thing I’ve decided about being an earl, I can afford to be generous with my handkerchiefs.’
Tess sniffed, gave a watery chuckle—and blew. And blew again, while Charlie smiled down at her in gentle concern.
‘Better?’
‘Better.’ Tess emerged from his linen and gave him a wavering smile. ‘I’m sorry. What you must think...’ Her smile faded. ‘Oh, Charlie, your eye...’ She stared up at him with guilt. ‘It’s changing colour already.’
Charlie fingered his bruised face and winced. ‘No matter,’ he said nobly. And winced again. ‘They say you only feel one pain centre at a time and they’re right. Your other area of attack is of more concern. Hell, Tess, what did you think you were doing?’
‘Defending myself,’ she told him, indignation flooding back as she saw the twinkle in his eyes. Drat the man, was he never serious
She looked down the street to where the sleek black car—a Jaguar—was waiting by the kerb. ‘It was you in the car,’ she said accusingly. ‘Waiting m the street like a gangster. You scared me to death!’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not showing any long-term damage.’ Charlie managed another heartfelt groan. ‘Whereas I just may start singing falsetto. Besides, I thought it was your fnend in the hotel who scared you,’ he said mildly. ‘Your friend with the sexy pyjamas.’
‘You saw.’ Tessa was so confused that for a minute she forgot this man was a nutcase. She thought of the pyjamas in question and gave another tearful chuckle. ‘Oh, isn’t he awful? I can’t stay here.’
‘No. You can’t stay here.’ Charlie’s hands came back to grip her shoulders. ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you on the plane. You wouldn’t listen. This address is seedy and this hotel has to be the seediest in the district.’
‘But...’ Tess took a ragged breath and steadied. And pulled away from his hands. ‘Charlie, I’ve paid for it. I can’t...’
‘You can’t have paid very much.’
‘We didn’t. But Donald says...’
‘Donald?’
‘My fiancé.’
Silence.
My fiancé. The word echoed in the silence of the street and Tess bit her lip. She’d had to say it, though. It wouldn’t do this man any harm to know there was a man in her life. A man who cared for her. But Charlie’s eyes were snapping down in a frown. He hauled up her ring finger and held it in the sunlight for inspection.
‘No ring,’ he said accusingly.
‘I don’t have to wear a ring,’ she told him, her voice just a trace unsteady.
‘It’d help. When a man’s looking out for a bride under desperate circumstances...’
‘You mean a man like you.’
‘Yes. A man who needs to be married.’
‘He wants a sign, I suppose.’ Tess glared. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cameron, but I don’t see why I should wear “claimed” labels just for you.’
‘Doesn’t Donald believe in diamonds?’
‘We’re saving for a house,’ Tess said with asperity. She was back under control now, and growing more indignant by the minute. ‘Now, if you’ve finished the inquisition...’
‘If you were my fiancée, I’d make sure you were wearing a diamond so large every other man could see it for miles,’ Charlie told her ‘I’d be so proud. You’re gorgeous, you’re kind, and you’re a warrior maiden to boot I’d buy you an engagement ring before any bricks and mortar.’
‘Even a castle?’ Tess said before she could help herself, and Charlie had the temerity to grin.
‘Well, who knows? What price a castle?’ And then he leaned over and lifted her baggage. ‘Hell. This weighs a ton. We saw you walk into the street. Walk! What the hell were you doing walking instead of taking a cab?’ And then he sighed and held up a hand. ‘No. Don’t tell me. I know. Donald and his house saving. You know, I’ve decided to take no notice of Donald. You mock my castle and I’ll mock your Donald. Until the man comes charging to rescue you, bearing diamonds, he can be set aside of no import. I’ve decided, Tessa Flanagan, that you need a hero, and I’m it.’
‘I don’t need anything of the kind.’
‘How about an earl?’
‘I especially don’t need an earl.’
‘Well, how about a simple farmer from home?’ Charlie’s voice suddenly gentled and the eyes looking down at her were warm and direct. ‘A farmer with a flat in Belgravia, very close to here. It’s a flat with four bedrooms, one of which is a guest suite.’ And then, as Tessa’s face froze, he smiled and shook his head. ‘And yes, my intentions are far from honourable, but I’ll respect the horrid Donald by making you a promise. You’ll be absolutely safe from all harm in my house, Tessa Flanagan, for however long you stay.’
And he made a signal to the man behind the wheel of the car. The lid of the car’s luggage compartment flipped up and he heaved Tessa’s bag into it.
‘But...I’m not coming with you,’ Tessa stammered.
‘Where are you going, then?’
‘I don’t know. Anywhere!’ Tess looked wildly around the deserted street, but there were no warm and welcoming little cafés within sight. No more hotels. Nowhere she could go and dump her gear.
So what would she do? Would she sit on her suitcase right here and wait until five o‘clock? Or drag her belongings along to Christine’s lawyer?’
