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Her spine shivered again as he gave another deep chuckle. ‘I know the type.’
* * *
The doorbell rang a few minutes later. Poppy had only just come back inside after doing another round of the garden. She shushed Pickles and Relish, who were bouncing up and down on their back legs like string puppets being controlled by a hyperactive puppeteer. ‘Down, Pickles; you too, Relish. Sit. I said sit.’ She opened the door to find Rafe standing there with Chutney under one arm. ‘Oh, you found him! Where was he?’
He handed the dog to her. ‘He was sitting at the back of the manor near the kitchen door.’
Poppy put Chutney on the floor where his two friends immediately besieged him with frenzied licks and whimpers of delight, as if he’d been away for a month instead of an hour. She straightened to face Rafe. ‘I’m sorry about that. I think he still misses Lord Dalrymple. We used to go up to visit him every day.’
‘I noticed he seemed quite at home.’
‘Yes, well, I made a habit of wandering past with the dogs to check the place wasn’t vandalised while it was vacant,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m not going up there now, of course.’
His eyes glinted knowingly. ‘Of course.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Thank you for returning him. You didn’t have to. I would have come to collect him. All you had to do was call me.’
‘Have you thought about my dinner proposal?’
Poppy felt that funny little shiver again as his dark eyes held hers. She wasn’t exactly dressed for visitors. She was wearing the oldest, shabbiest tracksuit she possessed and a pair of scruffy old trainers that had holes over her big toes where Pickles had chewed them. Her hair was tied up with a ribbon and her face bare of make-up. It made her feel at a distinct disadvantage. It made her feel about ten years old. Why, oh why hadn’t she changed into something a little less unsophisticated? ‘Um, I think you should ask someone else,’ she said.
‘I want you.’
Heat flowed into her cheeks as that coal-black gaze smouldered against hers. ‘I’m not available.’ To her chagrin her voice sounded throaty and husky...sexy, even.
‘You know you want to say yes. I can see it in your eyes.’
Poppy glowered at him. ‘I can see why you fly everywhere by private jet—you’d need all the extra cabin space for your ego.’
A smile lurked around the corners of his mouth. ‘You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?’
‘I did warn you.’
‘Likewise.’ His black-as-pitch gaze held hers with a glint of implacable determination. ‘When I want something, I don’t give up until I have it.’
‘Thank you for bringing Chutney home,’ she said holding the door open for him. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
Those dark-as-night eyes lowered to her mouth for a moment before returning to mesh with her gaze. ‘Aren’t you going to do the neighbourly thing and invite me in for a nightcap since I so gallantly returned your dog?’
Poppy knew it would appear churlish of her to refuse him entry. But wouldn’t inviting him in so late at night send him the message she actually wanted his company?
Of course she didn’t want his company. She had plenty of company. She had her three little dogs, didn’t she? ‘I’m kind of busy right now.’
‘I’m house-trained, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ His hint of a smile was devastatingly attractive. ‘I won’t cock my leg on the furniture or try and bury bones in the backyard.’
‘I’m not in the habit of inviting men I barely know into my house late at night.’
Was that a glimmer of respect she saw in his eyes? ‘Are you worried about what the neighbours will think?’ he asked.
‘You’re the only neighbour for miles,’ she pointed out.
A more serious note entered his voice and was reflected in his gaze as it held hers. ‘You’re quite safe with me, Miss Silverton. I might have a reputation but I have the utmost respect for women and always have.’
‘How reassuring.’
‘You don’t believe me.’
‘Some of the comments your ex-mistress posted online about you were rather derogatory,’ Poppy said.
‘It’s not my best character reference, that’s for sure. But she was unhappy about being made redundant, so to speak. I’ll get my secretary to send her a parting gift to soften the blow. It was remiss of me not to think of it earlier. I bet once Zandra gets several thousand pounds’ worth of rubies or sapphires she’ll take the comments down.’
Poppy arched her brow at him. ‘Why not diamonds?’
‘I never give diamonds.’
‘Why not? It’s not as if you can’t afford them.’
‘Diamonds are for ever,’ he said. ‘When I find the right girl to give them to, I’ll buy them, but not before.’
Poppy gave him a sceptical look. ‘So you’re actually planning to give up your partying and playboy lifestyle at some point?’
His shrug was noncommittal. ‘It’s not on my immediate agenda.’
She couldn’t keep the derision from her tone or from the angle of her chin. ‘Too busy out there sowing your wild oats?’
His eyes glinted as they held hers. ‘There are a few fresh fields I have yet to plough. After that, who knows? Don’t they say reformed rakes make the best husbands?’
‘What sort of wife will you require?’ Poppy asked. ‘A plaster saint with a blue-blooded background similar to your own?’
A sparkle of playfulness entered his gaze. ‘Are you thinking of auditioning for the post?’
She pulled her chin back in against her throat. ‘You must be joking. You’re the very last person I would ever think of marrying.’
He gave her a mock bow before he turned to leave. ‘The feeling is mutual, Miss Silverton. Bonsoir.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#u1ab9e895-62cb-5648-9281-8abc9e3d533f)
‘I JUST RAN into Mr Compton on my way to work,’ Chloe said the following morning. ‘He said Rafe Caffarelli came in again yesterday.’
‘He just had coffee.’ Poppy turned to put the cream she had just whipped back in the fridge. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t know why he bothers. What’s the point of going to a tearoom if you don’t drink tea and you don’t eat cake?’
‘Mr Compton also told me Rafe asked you to provide evening meals for him up at the manor.’ Chloe picked up her apron and began to tie it around her waist. ‘That’s exciting. The way to a man’s heart and all that. What are you going to cook for him?’
‘I’m not cooking for him.’
Chloe blinked. ‘Are you crazy? He’s going to pay you, isn’t he?’
Poppy set her mouth stubbornly. ‘That’s not the point.’
‘I’ll cook for him, then,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ll do three meals a day and morning and afternoon tea. I’ll even give him breakfast in bed. God, I’m having a hot flush just thinking about it. I bet he’s amazing between the sheets. He looks like he pumps some serious iron. I bet he could go all night.’
Poppy gave her a withering look. ‘There is more to a man than how he looks. What about intellect and morals? What about personal values?’
Chloe grinned at her. ‘You fancy him like rotten, don’t you? Go on—admit it. And I reckon he fancies you. Mr Compton reckons so too. Why else would he come in for coffee two days in a row?’
Poppy stalked over to put the cupcakes on the glass cake-stand. ‘Raffaele Caffarelli has had more lovers than you and I have had hot dinners. He thinks that just because he wants something or someone he can have it. His sense of entitlement is beyond arrogant. It’s deplorable.’
Chloe’s eyes began to twinkle. ‘You really are all fired up over him, aren’t you? This can’t just be about your house. Why do you dislike him so much?’
Poppy carried the cake-stand out to the tearoom. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
Chloe followed close behind. ‘Mr Compton said Rafe’s going to turn Dalrymple Manor into a luxury hotel and spa. It could be really good for the village if he does. There’d be heaps of jobs for the locals, and we might even get a bit of extra business as a result.’
Poppy plonked the cake-stand down and turned to glare her. ‘For the last four-hundred-and-seventy-five years, the manor has been a family home. Generations of the Dalrymple family have been born and have died there. Turning it into a plush hotel will totally destroy its character and desecrate its history.’
‘I expect Rafe Caffarelli will do a very tasteful conversion,’ Chloe put in. ‘I checked out some of his other developments online. He’s big on keeping things in context architecturally. He draws up most of the preliminary plans himself.’
Poppy was still on her soapbox and wasn’t stepping down any time soon. The thought of the paparazzi hiding in the hedges in her beloved village to get their prized shot of hedonistic celebrities partying up at the manor was sickening. ‘Lord Dalrymple will be spinning in his grave if this preposterous project goes ahead. What was his cousin thinking of, selling to a developer? Why couldn’t they have sold to a private family instead? Another family could bring life and vibrancy to the place instead of filthy rich people wining and dining and partying at all hours.’
‘You really love that old place, don’t you?’
Poppy blew out a long breath. ‘I know it sounds ridiculously sentimental but I think Dalrymple Manor needs a family to make it come alive again. It’s spent the last sixty years grieving. You can feel the sadness when you walk in there. It’s almost palpable. The stairs creak with it, sometimes even the foundations groan with it.’
Chloe’s eyes rounded. ‘Are you saying it’s haunted?’
‘I used to think so when I was a kid, but no, it’s just a sad old place that needs to be filled with love and laughter and family again.’
‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli will settle down there with one of his lovers,’ Chloe suggested.
‘I can’t see that happening,’ Poppy said with an expression of disdain. ‘He doesn’t keep a lover more than a month or two. Playboys like him don’t settle down, they just change partners.’
Chloe gave her a speculative look. ‘So I take it I’m not the only one who’s done a little online searching on the illustrious Rafe Caffarelli?’
Poppy went back to the kitchen with her head at a haughty height. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in what that man does or who he does it with. I have much better things to do with my time.’
* * *
Just before lunch Mr Underwood, Poppy’s landlord, came in to the tearoom. He usually came in on a Friday afternoon for a cup of tea and a slice of the cake of the day. Poppy desperately hoped this Tuesday visit wasn’t a business one. She had a list of expenses to see to on the dower house. The place needed painting inside and out, and the garden needed urgent attention. There was an elm tree close to her bedroom that needed lopping as it was keeping her awake at night with its branches scratching at the window. Even a modest rise in rent at the shop would just about cripple her financially now.
‘Your usual, Mr Underwood?’ she said with a bright and hopeful smile.
‘Er, can I have a word, Poppy?’ John Underwood asked.
‘Sure.’ Poppy’s smile tightened on her face. Please don’t ask for more rent.
‘I thought I should let you know I’ve been made an offer on the building,’ John said. ‘It’s a good one, the best I’ve had, so I’m going to take it.’
She frowned. ‘But I didn’t realise you were even thinking of selling.’
‘I’ve been toying with the idea for a while. Jean wants to travel a bit more. We’ve got three young grandchildren in the States now and we want to spend a bit more time with them. I’m selling this building and another investment property I have in Shropshire.’
Poppy felt suspicion move up her spine like a file of sugar ants. ‘Who made the offer?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he said. ‘The buyer insisted on total confidentiality until all the paperwork is done.’
She pursed her lips as the rage simmered inside her. ‘I just bet he did.’
John looked uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t want to do the wrong thing by you, Poppy. You and Chloe are the best tenants I’ve had. But at the end of the day this is a business decision. It’s not personal.’
Oh yes it is, Poppy thought sourly. ‘We’ve still got another year on the lease. That won’t change, will it?’
‘Not unless the new owner wants to redevelop.’
‘Did he say what he intended to do with it?’
‘No, he just seemed really keen to acquire this particular building. He said he instantly fell in love with its old-world charm.’
‘Ruthless’ didn’t even come close to describing Rafe Caffarelli, Poppy thought. He was clever and calculating, much more than she had realised. But she wasn’t going down without a fight. There was no way she was going to let him have things all his own way. Did he really think he could twist her arm? Blackmail her into his bed by charging her an outrageously high rent? What sort of woman did he think she was? ‘Will the new owner expect a rise in rent, do you think?’
‘You’d have to discuss that with him.’
She gave him an ironic look. ‘How can I if he wants to remain anonymous?’
‘I expect the rent will be handled through an agency,’ John said. ‘Anyway, I just thought I should let you know I’ve sold. I’m not one for keeping secrets but he seemed to think it was necessary.’
Poppy ground her teeth behind her tight smile. ‘I’m sure he has his reasons.’
She stalked out to the kitchen once John Underwood had left. ‘Grrrh! I’m going to punch him on the nose. I’m going to scratch his eyes out. I’m going to give him a black eye. I’m going to kick him in the you-know-where.’
Chloe blinked in confusion. ‘But I thought you liked Mr Underwood. What’s he done—put up the rent or something?’
‘Not Mr Underwood,’ Poppy said through clenched teeth. ‘Rafe Caffarelli. He’s bought the shop. I know it’s him, even though Mr Underwood didn’t actually say so. It’s supposed to be a secret. And I know why—Rafe Caffarelli wants to blackmail me into his bed.’
Chloe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘Hey, have I missed something somewhere? Back up a little bit. Did you say he wants to sleep with you? Did he actually say that out loud?’
‘Not in as many words, but I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me.’ Poppy clenched her hands into fists. ‘I won’t do it.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Chloe said. ‘What are you thinking, Poppy? He’s gorgeous. He’s rich. He’s everything a woman could want in a man.’
Poppy set her mouth. ‘Not this woman.’
‘You’re mad,’ Chloe said. ‘What would it hurt to have a little fling with him? He would probably give you heaps and heaps of ridiculously expensive jewellery at the end of it. You could sell them and retire.’
Poppy threw her a look of reproach. ‘I had no idea you were so shallow.’
Chloe shrugged. ‘Not shallow, just pragmatic. Think about it. When are you going to get the chance to move in his sort of circles? It’d be worth it just for the publicity. It’d really put the tearoom on the map.’
‘I am not going to sleep with Rafe Caffarelli in order to bring more customers in the door.’ Poppy folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘I have far more self-respect than that.’
