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‘How could he possibly be offended when you are obviously an admirer of his television programmes?’ Dora was beginning to feel sorry for the woman now, and regretted her subterfuge in not owning up to being completely aware of Griffin’s identity—if not the television programmes the woman was talking about.
‘But if it isn’t him—’
‘I’m sure that it is.’ Dora put a reassuring hand on the other woman’s arm. ‘Besides,’ she added mischievously, ‘I doubt that any man could look that much like him and not actually be him!’ As she knew only too well herself, Griffin was a one-off, if only in his unorthodox ways.
The woman looked across at him with adoring eyes. ‘He is rather unique, isn’t he?’ she sighed wistfully.
‘Unique’ described Griffin completely—at least, Dora had never met anyone remotely like him, either in looks or outspoken manner.
‘Exactly,’ she agreed with the other woman emphatically.
‘I suppose you think I’m rather silly; I know that my husband does,’ the elderly woman acknowledged ruefully. ‘But the truth of the matter is, I absolutely adore novels that have swashbuckling pirates and rogues in, and Griffin Sinclair looks just like a modern-day version of one to me!’
Dora glanced across at him. The pile of books that he carried reached up to his cleanly shaven chin—she really wasn’t that desperate to make a sale! But with his long blond hair, that ruggedly handsome face, and with his complete disregard for outward appearances, she had to admit he did look a bit like a modern-day pirate…!
‘Come on.’ She put her hand lightly in the crook of the other woman’s arm. ‘We’ll go and face this particular pirate together.’ It was the least she could do after not being completely honest with this woman from the outset.
Dora was sure Griffin was well aware of the two women approaching him, but he continued to maintain his interest in the shelves in front of him.
‘Mr Sinclair?’ Dora tilted her head questioningly in front of him. ‘This lady is a fan of yours, and would like to say hello.’
Was it her imagination or did he raise mocking brows in her direction before placing his pile of books down on the table beside him and turning the warmth of his charm on to his fan?
No, Dora decided wryly as she walked away and left the two of them to their conversation—gushing on the woman’s part, huskily warm on Griffin’s—she hadn’t imagined that mockery at all. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Griffin knew damn well that until the woman had told her so a few minutes ago she had had no knowledge that Griffin did anything to merit having fans! He was well aware of the fact that the Baxter household did not possess a television, because of her father’s aversion to them—and she would hardly have been out and purchased one in the ten days since his death.
Although, she acknowledged with a frown, just the sight and sound of one might have been preferable to the silence that had fallen over the house in the last week. Not that her father had been a great conversationalist; he’d usually been busy either reading one of his beloved books or restoring one, a hobby that had become a profession over the last few years. But just knowing the house was empty, apart from herself, had made the silence seem all the more oppressive…
‘—so kind of you, Mr Sinclair.’
Dora was brought back to an awareness of her surroundings by the elderly woman’s gushing thanks.
‘I’ll treasure it always!’ she added breathlessly.
‘It’ was a book that Griffin had insisted on buying for the other woman, gallantly opening the door for her too, a couple of minutes later, so that she could leave.
‘Take that look off your face, Izzy Baxter,’ Griffin drawled as he strolled back to where she sat behind the till. ‘And don’t say, What look?’ He sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘I know you too well to be in the least fooled by the innocent calm of your grey eyes!’
A shutter instantly came down over those ‘calm grey eyes’. ‘The truth of the matter is, Griffin,’ she told him coolly, ‘you don’t know me at all!’
‘I beg to differ—Izzy.’ He raised one blond brow pointedly. ‘But enough of that,’ he dismissed lightly as she continued to look at him coldly. ‘I bet that’s the first time you’ve ever sold a biography of Dickens with a Griffin Sinclair autograph in the front of it!’
He hadn’t? He couldn’t have?
He had, she realised increduously as she saw the laughter in his eyes.
‘I doubt that has increased its value,’ she bit out waspishly.
‘Ouch!’ he murmured ruefully, his gaze lingering on her face. ‘But it’s good to see that, between the two of them, Charles and your father didn’t knock all the spirit and fun out of you.’ His expression was grim now, green eyes hard as the emeralds they resembled.
‘Neither Charles or my father ever raised a hand to me,’ she defended indignantly.
‘They didn’t need to,’ Griffin scorned. ‘Verbal abuse, in the form of constant put-downs in your case, can be as effective as a physical blow.’
Dora looked up at him wordlessly for several long seconds. But finally, seeing in his demeanour no hint of apology for what he’d just said, she turned away, before getting restlessly to her feet, needing to put some distance between the two of them.
‘You’re talking absolute nonsense,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘Now I wish you would just state your reason for being here and then go.’ Because, as always, he was shaking her natural calm. And after the recent strain, she needed to hold on to that. ‘I’m sure your mother—for one—would not approve of your paying a visit to your brother’s exfiancеe!’ Dora couldn’t resist making a dig of her own; Margaret had always disapproved of Griffin’s apparent familiarity with Dora in the past, and Dora had no reason to think it was any different now, even with Charles dead.
Griffin relaxed. ‘I’m sure my mother’s opinion—‘‘for one’’!—is of no interest to me!’
It had always amazed Dora in the past that it never had been of much interest to Griffin. Margaret Sinclair was tall and autocratic. Widowed while her children were all still quite young, she had taken over as the head of the family, seemingly without pause for mourning her husband’s demise.
Charles, as the eldest son, had been groomed for the family’s re-entry into the political arena his mother had loved so well. Charlotte, as the youngest child and only daughter, had been brought up to be a wife and mother—although she was neither of those things yet, as far as Dora was aware. Griffin, the second son and the middle child, was as different from his siblings as night was from day—his blond good looks against their darker colouring. He was also the rebel in the family, fitting into none of the careers Margaret would have liked him to follow.
It was a role, Dora had learnt after a very short acquaintance with the whole family, that Griffin nurtured and loved!
She gave him a rueful grimace. ‘How has she taken to your television career?’
He gave her a sideways glance, green gaze openly laughing. ‘What do you think?’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Oh, no.’ Dora laughed softly. ‘You aren’t going to draw me into that one!’ Although she could well imagine how Margaret had reacted to her middle child being on public television in a programme that, knowing Griffin, would be slightly less than serious. But, as in the past, Dora had every intention of keeping well out of the feud that existed between Griffin and his mother. Anyone caught in the middle of that animosity was likely to get trampled underfoot by one or both of them!
‘She’s horrified.’ Griffin cheerfully confirmed Dora’s suspicions, at the same time giving the impression—once again!—that his mother’s opinion was of no interest to him. ‘In fact,’ he continued dryly, ‘she was so angry with me when the first programme was televised that she didn’t speak to me for a month. That was the most peaceful month of my life!’ he added with feeling.
Dora gave another laugh, realising even as she did so that it was the first time for a very long time she had found anything to laugh about…
She sobered, feeling almost guilty at her humour now, with her father only dead a matter of days. And here, too, of all places, in the shop he had spent so much time in.
‘And yet,’ Dora murmured softly, ‘it’s you who she called when there was a family crisis.’ This last was said half questioningly; Margaret had always been so in control, so self-possessed, it was hard to imagine a situation she couldn’t deal with herself.
Griffin shrugged. ‘Mother hasn’t been quite her—autocratic self since Charles’s death.’ He frowned, as if he had only just realised that particular fact for himself. ‘In fact, it was that that caused the row between Mother and Charlotte.’
‘Charles’s death?’ Dora looked at him sharply.
The two brothers hadn’t always seen eye to eye, being far too different in outlook and temperament for that, but Margaret and Charlotte had both adored Charles; Dora couldn’t imagine the two women arguing about him.
‘The time-scale of it.’ Griffin nodded grimly. ‘Charlotte’s finacе, Stuart— I’m sure you remember him? Well, he’s been offered a job in the States,’ Griffin continued at her affirmative nod. ‘Which he is due to start in a couple of months’ time. Charlotte, quite naturally, wants to go with him.’
‘And your mother isn’t happy about the two of them living together?’ Dora nodded—although she still didn’t see how that involved Charles.
Griffin gave a mischievous grin. ‘She certainly wouldn’t be happy if that were the case,’ he acknowledged tauntingly. ‘Although, at twenty-eight, Charlotte is old enough to make up her own mind how she wants to live her life! But, no, Charlotte and Stuart are going to do the decent thing and get married. It was the date Charlotte set for the wedding that caused the problem. Four weeks on Saturday,’ he explained as Dora still looked confused. ‘That way the two of them will be able to have a honeymoon before Stuart is due to start his new job.’
By which time Charles would only have been dead for eleven months… And, bearing in mind Griffin’s earlier comment to her today about wearing black for a year, it all began to make perfect sense.
‘Your mother believes the wedding date is disrespectful to Charles’s memory,’ she guessed knowingly.
Once again Griffin gave her that sideways glance. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with her?’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ she answered impatiently. ‘You have a very strange opinion of me, Griffin.’ She frowned, remembering some of his earlier remarks concerning her father and Charles. ‘I’m very pleased for Charlotte and Stuart.’ She had always been very fond of the other couple; in fact Charlotte was the only member of the family that she had continued to see for coffee occasionally after Charles died.
‘Because they’re getting married—or because they’re moving far away from my mother?’ Griffin muttered grimly.
Dora shook her head at him. He really was the most disrespectful man! ‘I’m sure your mother means well, Griffin,’ she reasoned evasively; she had been more than aware, during her brief engagement to Charles, that Margaret would make a formidable mother-in-law…!
‘Are you?’ Griffin looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I wish I had your confidence,’ he added disgustedly. ‘Whatever, the wedding is going ahead as planned in four weeks’ time.’
‘How did you manage that?’ Dora wondered curiously. If his mother could stop speaking to him for a month simply because he appeared on public television in what she considered amounted to a role of entertainer, how much deeper would her response have been to Charlotte thwarting her wishes?
‘Bribery and corruption,’ Griffin bit out grimly. ‘But it’s done now, and—well, that’s why I’m here today.’ He searched in the pockets of his leather jacket. ‘To personally bring you your wedding invitation. Sorry.’ He grimaced as he finally found it. ‘It seems to have got a bit crushed in my pocket.’ He handed her the dog-eared envelope.
Dora looked blankly at the envelope, making no effort to take it. Her invitation? Not just to the wedding, but back into the midst of the Sinclair family…!
‘It isn’t going to bite,’ Griffin mocked as he still held out the envelope.
She hadn’t seen Charlotte for several months now, both of them having other commitments, otherwise she would probably already have known about the hastily arranged marriage. And it was very kind of the other woman to invite her to her wedding, but, in truth, Dora felt her own involvement with the Sinclair family had ended with Charles’s death. And the way Griffin had just breezed in here today, on the basis of delivering this invitation, proved to her she was right to have made that decision!
She shook her head. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to make it.’
‘Why not?’
She gave Griffin an irritated frown. ‘In view of your mother’s initial reaction to the wedding date, and the reason for it, I would have thought I was the last person she would expect to see there!’
He raised blond brows. ‘Scared, Izzy?’ he taunted.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Griffin,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘I was trying to be sensitive to your mother’s feelings.’
‘In view of the fact that she is never ‘‘sensitive’’ to other people’s feelings, I wouldn’t bother!’ He pushed himself up off the desk, instantly making the shop look small once again. ‘Besides, now that we’ve settled her initial—misgivings, she’s thrown herself into the wedding arrangements with a vengeance! Charlotte’s ‘‘quiet wedding’’ has been turned into a social circus!’ he explained disgustedly.
All the more reason, Dora would have thought, for her not to attend. Oh, she still had all the social attributes Charles—and his mother!—had found so suitable for her future role as Charles’s wife: she found it easy to converse with people from all walks of life, on most subjects—themselves, she had learnt, was usually a pretty safe bet for most people!—she was attractive enough, in a quiet and unassuming way, and, best of all, she was sure, there was no hint of scandal attached to her name.
She just didn’t particularly relish her role now as ‘poor Charles’s fiancеe’, the object of pitying curiosity. And surely her father’s recent death was excuse enough not to accept.
‘In view of the fact that none of the family were aware of your father’s death, he was, of course, included in the invitation.’ Griffin seemed to have read at least some of her thoughts. ‘But don’t give that another thought; it will be simple enough for you to come to the wedding as my partner for the day.’
Now Dora did stare at him. His partner? ‘I don’t think so, Griffin—’
‘Well, I do,’ he returned in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Now, could you ring through the sale of these books?’ He indicated the pile he had accumulated when the elderly lady was in the shop, having put them down on the desk. ‘I have another appointment in an hour.’
Dora frowned. ‘Surely you don’t really want all these books?’
He grimaced. ‘As well as not talking to me for a month, my mother decided to clear out the bedroom she keeps for me at the house. The ‘‘clearing out’’ included throwing away a collection of classics I had had since I was a boy,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’m attempting to replace them.’
Mother and son never had really got on, Dora knew, but even so!
Griffin might dismiss his mother’s behaviour now, but she was sure he had been far from pleased at the time. ‘If you can remember some of the others that are still—missing, I might be able to get them for you,’ she offered helpfully. Books had always been a big part of her own life, and she could imagine nothing more awful than losing any of the collection she had amassed over the years, and still read over and over.
‘Thanks.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll make a list and give it to you.’
She wished he wouldn’t watch her so intently as she totalled up the books; he made her feel nervous, and she had trouble concentrating at all.
But he continued to watch her with those knowing green eyes, and it seemed to take her for ever to get through the twenty or so books he had picked up.
‘You must have had quite a library,’ she said lightly as she stacked them into carrier bags, having noted that some of them were copies of books she had in her own library at home.
‘And there you were thinking I couldn’t read!’ he drawled mockingly.
‘You’re being ridiculous again.’ She looked up at him with calm grey eyes, able to breathe again now that she knew he was on the point of leaving. ‘I am aware of the fact that you’ve written several books of your own.’
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘I’ll lay odds on there not being any of them in here, though.’ He looked about him pointedly.
She stiffed at his deliberate mockery. ‘We do have travel books—’
‘But not by Griffin Sinclair,’ he said with certainty. ‘Your father didn’t approve of me any more than I liked him!’
He was right, of course; her father had never made any secret of his disapproval of Charles’s ‘disreputable’ younger brother. Although Dora very much doubted the oversight had been deliberately because of who Griffin was; the shop simply didn’t stock the sort of books Griffin had written.
‘I told you I intend making changes,’ she replied abruptly. ‘And books written by well-known television personalities are sure to be good sellers,’ she added teasingly.
‘Very funny!’ Griffin grimaced, picking up the two bags of books. ‘I’ll see you in four weeks’ time, then.’ He strode across the shop to the door. ‘The wedding is at three o’clock, so I’ll call for you at your home at about two o’clock.’
Then she would accompany him to his sister’s wedding, as his partner…
‘Oh, and Izzy…?’ He paused at the open doorway.
She looked at him warily. ‘Yes?’
He grinned at her obvious reluctance. ‘Don’t wear black, hmm? For one thing, it isn’t an appropriate colour to wear to a wedding,’ he continued before she could make any comment. ‘And for another,’ he added tauntingly, ‘it doesn’t suit you!’
Dora sank down weakly into her chair once Griffin had gone, closing the door softly behind him. Griffin Sinclair, she decided—and not for the first time!—was the most outrageous man she had ever had the misfortune to meet.
But how strange it was that the elderly lady had earlier likened him to a modern-day pirate, because when Dora had first met him he had seemed like a man from another time to her, too.
Of course, their surroundings had added to that illusion. At least, she had felt they did then, and she had made that excuse to herself since as a way of explaining her behaviour. Whatever the reason, she had allowed herself to be cast under some sort of spell. If only for a brief time…
CHAPTER TWO
THE prospective dealer, a man with a book for sale that her father had wanted, had sounded eccentric enough over the telephone, but when Dora had seen the Devon hotel he’d recommended for her overnight stay, she had known her business visit there was going to be a memorable one.
She could have had no idea as she walked into the entrance hall, past huge open oak doors, just how memorable it was going to be!
She had felt as if she’d stepped back through a time warp as she’d walked inside the hotel. Dungelly Court had been restored, it had said in the brochure she’d picked up just inside the door, as much as it was possible to its past glory. Old paintings and huge tapestries had adorned the deep purple walls, and ornate mirrors hung on those walls too, with a deep red carpet on the floor that should have clashed with the colour of the walls and yet somehow hadn’t. And in the two rooms that had led directly off the hallway there had been fires lit in the massive grates, logs burning warmly. And welcomingly.
It had been unreal. Surreal.
‘Someone will come and see to you shortly.’
Dora’s overnight bag almost slipped from her fingers at the sound of that rich male voice. She looked cautiously into the deserted room to the right of the main doorway. At least, a room she had assumed to be deserted!
A man now stood to one side of the huge open fireplace, a man dressed completely in black, only the golden blondness of his long hair alleviating that impression of darkness.
