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Where he had come from, Dora had no idea, but she had been sure that when she’d glanced into the room a few moments ago it had been empty. The bar that stood at one end of the room was still closed at this time of the morning, the tables and chairs placed casually about the room were all empty too, although candles burned in holders on every tabletop, despite the earliness of the hour.
Her gaze returned nervously to the man. One of his hands rested on the huge wooden lintel above the fireplace. ‘Where is everyone?’ Her voice sounded hushed and hollow.
Understandably so—not only did she seem to have stepped back in time, but she had done so with this blond giant of a man, who now stood looking at her with cool green eyes.
‘Couldn’t tell you.’ The man shrugged dismissively. ‘Do you have a room booked? They don’t seem too busy at the moment so I don’t think it will matter whether you have or not, but—’
‘I booked,’ Dora put in quickly. ‘Miss Baxter.’
The man moved behind the bar, glancing in a red leather-bound book that lay open on its top. ‘Yep.’ He nodded. ‘Miss I. Baxter.’ He looked up at her with those compelling eyes. ‘What does the ‘‘I’’ stand for?’ He quirked one blond brow.
‘Isadora,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But my family has always called me—’
‘Izzy,’ the man put in with satisfaction as he strolled back from behind the bar, seeming to savour the way the name rolled off his tongue. ‘I like it.’ He nodded, tilting his head to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘It suits you,’ he finally murmured.
Finally, because Dora found she had been holding her breath as she waited for his next comment! And no one had ever called her Izzy…! It had always been Isadora if her parents were displeased with her, and Dora if they weren’t. But, strangely enough, she found that she liked the name Izzy. It seemed to make her sound different, and, as such, was perfectly in harmony with the surreal quality of this country inn.
‘Griffin Sinclair.’ The man held out his hand, a hand that was cool and firm to the touch, the clasp firm, as Dora discovered when she touched it politely. ‘I was named after my mother’s least favourite uncle,’ he added by way of explanation, grimacing his feelings about that. ‘Least favourite, but the man with all the money,’ he added dryly. ‘Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?’ he offered lightly.
Just listening to this man was like having arrows hurled in your direction. In his case they were arrows of information, but after Dora’s long drive here, and the strangeness of her surroundings, her head was starting to spin!
‘I’m so sorry.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I didn’t realise you worked here.’
‘I don’t,’ he assured her cheerfully. ‘I’m a guest too. But I would be happy to get you a drink.’
Dora frowned. This man had appeared as if from thin air, he chose to call her Izzy, when no one else ever had, he had been named Griffin after his mother’s rich but disliked uncle, and he’d casually offered to get her a drink as if he owned the place, when in fact he was merely a guest, like herself!
She certainly didn’t need a drink; in fact she already felt as if she were slightly drunk!
‘I’ll wait and have a coffee, thank you,’ she replied somewhat dazedly, looking about her thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it a little—odd, that there’s no one here to book me in?’ she murmured awkwardly.
‘Part of the hotel’s charm.’ Griffin shrugged dismissively once again, sitting down on one of the high stools that stood in front of the bar. ‘That’s something you’ll learn this place has by the barrel-load,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘Right down to its secret passage that leads down on to the beach. For the smugglers,’ he added as she still looked blank. ‘It used to be quite a lucrative business in these parts.’
Secret passage…? ‘I don’t suppose its source is in this room?’ Dora wondered ruefully; after all, he had to have appeared in this room from somewhere!
Griffin grinned, obviously now guessing the reason for her initial discomfort. ‘Behind the suit of armour.’ He nodded towards the niche in the corner of the room where the armour stood on display. ‘One of the panels moves. You go down a flight of stairs, and the passageway leads down to a cave that opens out on to the beach a quarter of a mile away.’
Not too keen on dark, confined spaces, Dora couldn’t see herself ever making that particular trip, so he could have saved himself the explanation. Besides, she was only here overnight. She had her dealer to see later today, and then tomorrow morning she would be driving back to Hampshire, where she lived. Which didn’t leave too much time for exploring secret passages and caves on to beaches—thank goodness!
‘I don’t—Good grief…!’ Dora breathed in a panicked squeak as the biggest dog she had ever set eyes on stood calmly in the doorway. Dog? The huge grey beast looked more like a horse!
‘Griffin!’ She moved as quickly as she dared—just above a snail’s pace!—and threw herself into the protection of Griffin’s arms.
Yes, Griffin, at least, was very real! Dora could feel the hard warmth of his chest beneath her cheek, smell the male warmth of him. Yes, he might be real—but the rest of this was turning into a nightmare!
Griffin’s arms moved comfortably about her at the same time as he began to chuckle, a huskily attractive sound that reverberated through his chest. ‘It’s only Derry,’ he laughed softly. ‘Admittedly, he looks rather fierce, but he’s actually very gentle. In fact, a pussycat!’
A pussycat! The dog looked far from gentle as he surveyed the room with a steady gaze.
Even as Dora continued to look at him in horrified fascination the dog decided to stroll further into the room, walking over to the fire before dropping his huge weight down in front of it, his massive head coming down to rest on his front paws as he proceeded to gaze at the flames, totally ignoring the two humans in the room.
Although Dora had a feeling the dog wouldn’t look quite so unconcerned if either of them should try to make a move. What sort of hotel was this?
She was very much afraid she would have to make a move of some sort. She still stood within the protective embrace of Griffin Sinclair. She was extremely conscious of the powerful warmth of his body, and could smell the male freshness of his aftershave, too, now. This man was a complete stranger to her; she would have to move!
But before she could do so a tall blonde woman, probably in her forties, strolled into the room. Everyone seemed to stroll in his hotel, Dora decided irritably; so much for efficiency of service. And yet everywhere looked neat and clean, and the fires were well tended—as were the extensive grounds outside.
Having already had the feeling that she’d stepped back in time, Dora was far from amused by the woman’s opening remark!
‘So you’ve found a friend to share your four-poster bed after all, Griffin,’ she drawled pleasantly, smiling warmly at Dora, pausing to stroke the Irish wolfhound’s head absently before stepping lightly behind the bar. ‘Can I get you both a drink? On the house, of course.’
Griffin chuckled again as Dora moved indignantly out of his arms, winking at her conspiratorially before turning back to face the other woman. ‘This is Miss Izzy Baxter—your new paying guest!’ he added, with obvious enjoyment at the mistake that had been made. ‘And she’s already turned down the suggestion of an alcoholic drink. Izzy, this is the lady who owns Dungelly Court—Fiona Madison.’
The two women looked at each other with new eyes; Fiona Madison taking on a more businesslike expression, Dora’s frown deepening. Griffin had claimed to be a guest here too, but was he a paying one? He and Fiona Madison seemed extremely familiar with each other…
‘Sorry about that, Izzy.’ Fiona gave a dismissive laugh. ‘I thought—well, never mind what I thought,’ she said briskly as Dora continued to look at her coolly. ‘Would you like to sign the register? And then I’ll take you to your room. Have you had a very long journey?’ she continued conversationally as Dora signed her name in the red leather book Griffin had looked in earlier.
A long journey? It felt, in these unreal surroundings, as if she had been travelling for years—backwards!
Fiona laughed again as she easily read Dora’s slightly dazed expression. ‘This place is something else, isn’t it?’ she acknowledged fondly. ‘My late husband spent the last five years of his life lovingly restoring it,’ she added wistfully.
Late husband? This beautiful woman, probably only forty-three or four, was a widow? Again Dora looked speculatively at Griffin Sinclair. Though the other woman’s tone had borne no rancour minutes ago, when she’d made that remark about Griffin having found a friend to share his four-poster…
‘He did a wonderful job of it,’ Dora told the other woman politely. Mr Madison, whoever he might have been, had certainly fooled her when she’d arrived!
‘Mmm,’ the older woman acknowledged wistfully, definitely giving the impression she would rather have had her husband back at her side than all the visible charm he had returned to Dungelly Court. ‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Fiona added lightly, coming out from behind the bar.
‘See you later, Izzy,’ Griffin Sinclair called after her, mockery edging his tone now—as if he had half guessed Dora’s speculation concerning himself and Fiona Madison and was amused by it!
He would be, Dora decided crossly; the man seemed to laugh at everything—but especially at her!
And, considering she usually took life so seriously, never having time in her life for the air of frivolity Griffin Sinclair seemed to possess, she found the fact irksome to say the least.
‘Perhaps we could have lunch together?’ he called softly as Dora reached the doorway.
She turned slowly, not sure if he were talking to her or Fiona Madison. But Griffin appeared to be looking straight at her, one of those blond brows raised questioningly over green eyes.
Dora drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid I already have a luncheon appointment,’ she was able to answer truthfully, and with not a little relief at having the prior engagement.
The hotel obviously wasn’t particularly busy, and Griffin was as obviously bored with his own company, but Dora certainly wasn’t going to provide him with his entertainment. Although part of her acknowledged that, with her initial reaction to him and this hotel, she’d probably already done that!
He looked unperturbed by her refusal. ‘See you later, then.’ He nodded dismissively, although his gaze remained on her as she left the room.
To Dora’s further dismay the Irish wolfhound had stood up and now followed her and Fiona from the room. His head, when he raised it to look at her, was almost on a level with Dora’s own. Her father had always been of the opinion that keeping cats and dogs as pets in the home was a sign of man’s weakness, so Dora hadn’t grown up comfortable with either species, let alone one that looked as if it could devour her with one bite of those massive jaws!
‘Derry is completely harmless,’ Fiona assured her as Dora gave worried glances towards the following dog. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly—would you, boy?’ She gave the massive head an affectionate rub. ‘You should see him with children.’ Fiona shook her head ruefully. ‘He rolls over and lets them tickle his tummy.’
Dora would as soon have Griffin Sinclair roll over and tickle his tummy as she would this huge dog! ‘How nice,’ she murmured weakly.
All thought of the dog and Griffin Sinclair fled her mind as Fiona took her up a short flight of stairs and unlocked the door at the top, throwing it open so that Dora could view her room.
A room it certainly was, but like no other hotel room Dora had ever seen. Here the walls were painted yellow, but still with that rich red carpet on the floor; there were more tapestries on the walls, and another fireplace, but filled with a huge vase of dried flowers this time, and several pieces of antique furniture. Against the farthest wall stood a four-poster bed.
Dora’s cheeks flushed fiery red as she recalled Fiona’s earlier remark to Griffin concerning the four-poster in his own room…
‘We only have ten guestrooms,’ Fiona told her lightly. ‘The restaurant is our main attraction—a carvery, of course,’ she added ruefully. ‘Shall I reserve a table for you for dinner this evening?’ she enquired pleasantly.
Dora was still disoriented, and this bedroom only added to the illusion. ‘Please,’ she accepted gratefully, her attention caught and held by the tapestry over the unlit fireplace. A lion and a unicorn… How appropriate! ‘I collect books and figures of unicorns myself,’ she told Fiona Madison somewhat shyly as the other woman saw her fascination with the tapestry.
It was a subject Dora and her father totally disagreed on, her father claiming the beast was totally mythical, and therefore foolish, and so by tacit agreement it was something the two of them never referred to. Dora’s collection was kept in her bedroom, where only she could see it.
‘Then this room was obviously meant for you to stay in.’ The other woman squeezed her arm as if in understanding. ‘Make yourself at home,’ she added warmly. ‘And if you need anything, just come down and ask— I promise you that someone will be in the bar,’ she added ruefully, after the earlier oversight. ‘There are no telephones in the rooms, I’m afraid. They are totally destructive to any peace and quiet our guests might desire—as well as being totally out of keeping with the twelfth century!’
They hadn’t had radiators in the twelfth century either, or running water in the bathrooms—in fact, they probably hadn’t even had bathrooms in the house!
But as Dora dropped down wearily on to the four-poster bed once the other woman had left, she found she didn’t particularly care about the lack of a telephone. The complete silence in the room, apart from the sound of birds singing outside in the garden, only added to the mystery that was fast becoming Dungelly Court.
In fact, the peace and quiet, and the total lack of formality from the owner of the hotel, filled Dora with a lethargy of her own, making her feel somewhat reluctant to step outside and let the real world in again.
But she did have that appointment for lunch with her father’s dealer. She was sure she would feel refreshed once she had indulged in the cup of coffee she had mentioned earlier. A shower and a change of clothes would complete the transformation, and then perhaps she would be able to view this place with the detachment she now felt was necessary.
Griffin Sinclair, she readily admitted to herself, was part of what she needed to detach herself from! He was aged, she guessed, in his early thirties, and the shoulder length of his hair was unfashionable to say the least—although Griffin’s confident air seemed to state he didn’t give a damn for fashion! He’d certainly made an impression on her. If only for the fact that after only a few minutes’ acquaintance he had asked her to join him for lunch!
Colour heated Dora’s cheeks as she remembered the way he had looked at her. She’d never had any illusions concerning the way she looked: a little over five feet in height, slender, with a pale complexion and vibrant red hair. Griffin Sinclair, she decided, must either be very bored to have asked her to join him for lunch, or else he had been playing with her. She was not too happy with either possible explanation!
Forget Griffin Sinclair, she told herself half an hour later as she drove away from the hotel to go to her appointment; with any luck he might have checked out by the time she returned.
He hadn’t booked out. In fact, far from it!
The bar, Dora discovered when she wandered downstairs shortly before eight o’clock that evening—having taken a slight detour on the way when she had inadvertently turned left instead of right at the bottom of the stairs!—in contrast to the morning, when she had arrived, was absolutely packed with people. So much so that Dora could hardly see the bar itself, let alone find a seat. The fire was totally hidden by the sea of people standing in front of its warmth, although that heat could still be felt even in the doorway, making Dora glad she had chosen to wear a silk cream blouse over a calf-length black skirt.
‘Our table is through here.’
Dora looked up in time to recognise Griffin Sinclair before her arm was taken in his firm grasp as he led the way through the maze of small dining rooms that seemed to make up most of the lower floor of the hotel, warmly inviting rooms, with only three or four tables in each, log fires burning in the hearths.
‘As you can see, it’s very busy here this evening.’ Griffin stopped beside a table, holding back a chair for Dora to sit down. ‘I assured Fiona we wouldn’t in the least mind sharing a table rather than taking up two!’
Dora frowned at him. He had a damned cheek assuring Fiona of anything where she was concerned!
But there was no doubt that the restaurant was very busy; most of the people that had been in the bar drinking were now starting to drift in to sit at their tables.
‘And sharing the bill, too?’ Dora drawled as she finally sat down.
The room was illuminated by the fire and a dozen or so lit candles. Very romantic! And with a complete stranger, at that. She wouldn’t say he was a ‘perfect’ stranger, because she had the feeling Griffin Sinclair was far from being that!
‘That would be very ungentlemanly of me.’ Griffin sat down opposite her, pouring her a glass of white wine from the bottle he must already have ordered for their table. ‘And although my mother may feel that she failed with me in most things,’ he added hardly, ‘she did bring me up to be a gentleman.’
There was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke of his mother, as there had been earlier when he’d talked of being named after his great-uncle. Dora’s own mother had been dead for eight years, and she still missed her quiet calm, her air of serenity, her sense of fun.
‘In that case, I thank you for dinner.’ She accepted his invitation—albeit a fait accompli!—with a gracious smile.
Griffin sat back in his chair, watching her. ‘You look right in these surroundings, you know, Izzy,’ he finally murmured.
Dora had been aware of his prolonged gaze, and now the hot colour entered her cheeks. She had never been what could be considered a fashionable dresser, preferring to wear what was comfortable or smart, and, in the case of the cream blouse and black skirt, she considered them to be both.
Her hair was freshly washed after her travelling and her business appointment, and fell softly to her shoulders; her make-up was light—a peach lipgloss on her lips, just a brush of mascara to darken her lashes and enhance the grey of her eyes.
In fact, she had been quite satisfied with her appearance before she’d left her bedroom a few minutes ago, but she realised that she probably wasn’t sophisticated or beautiful enough for a man like Griffin Sinclair, that his taste would be for much more glamorous women than she could ever be.
‘I meant that as a compliment, Izzy.’ His husky voice interrupted her wandering thoughts. ‘I’ve fallen in love with the charm of this place.’ He looked about them comfortably. ‘I only meant to stay overnight initially, but instead I’ve been here almost a week now!’
‘Are you here on business, Griffin?’ She deliberately chose to ignore what he considered his compliment—and the fact that he continued to call her Izzy when no one else ever did. The whole of her visit to this hotel was taking on a dream-like quality; he might as well become another part of it. And, actually, it was quite exciting to be someone other than Dora for a few hours in her life!
Not that there was anything particularly wrong with her life. She kept house for her father, and helped him in his bookshop throughout the week. It was just that the very fact of being called Izzy made her feel as if she were somehow different, no longer the shy, cautious little Dora. Or maybe it was as Griffin said: the charm of this country inn just seemed to take over…
He laughed softly. ‘This is my business, Izzy. I write travel reviews,’ he explained at her questioning look.
‘For Sunday supplements, things like that?’ She had never actually thought about the fact that the people who wrote those things had to actually stay in the places they wrote about. But of course they did. And Griffin was obviously one of the people who did that. They had travel books at the shop, of course, but not ones that involved visiting individual hotels and giving a rating on them.
‘Things like that,’ Griffin echoed dryly, with a mocking inclination of his head.
‘How interesting.’ She took a sip of her wine, finding it light and dry. Just the way she liked it…
Griffin burst out laughing, uncaring of the female heads that turned his way as he did so. ‘Take my advice, Izzy, and never take up acting—you’re lousy at it!’
‘But surely it is interesting?’ She hurriedly tried to rectify what he had obviously taken as an insult. This place, or being called Izzy, must be having a strange effect on her; she wasn’t usually so outspoken! ‘I’ve always wanted to travel,’ she added wistfully, knowing that while she worked for her father she probably never would, other than on business trips like this one. And she only made those because her father now felt he was too old for making such long drives himself.
When she was younger Dora had imagined she would perhaps take a year out after finishing school and before taking up a course at university, but her mother’s death, and the need for her at home, meant that that had never happened. And now, with her father and herself both working in the shop, they had necessarily to take separate holidays. Most of Dora’s friends were now either married or had moved away from the area, and it didn’t feel right, nor would it be as much fun, for her to travel on her own. And so her holidays were usually spent at home.
Although travelling for a living, while it might be fun to start with, must surely become boring after a while…
‘It can be interesting.’ Griffin shrugged. ‘Although my family keep asking me when I’m going to get a ‘‘proper’’ job!’
From what Griffin had said about his family, his mother in particular, Dora had the feeling he was quite happy to continue as he was—if it managed to annoy his family at the same time as providing him with a living!
Dora couldn’t imagine living with such tension between herself and the only living member of the family she had left: namely her father. She preferred life to run smoothly and comfortably, not to be in constant conflict with those around her. Griffin gave every impression of not giving a damn about who he upset!
Her mouth twisted wryly. ‘I’m sure they must be proud of you.’ After all, he must be quite good at what he did, otherwise he wouldn’t still be in employment.
‘And I’m damned sure they’re no such thing!’ he returned unconcernedly.
Dora took another sip of her wine. In fact, she seemed to sip rather a lot of wine during the next couple of hours as they enjoyed their meal, and Griffin ordered another bottle halfway through their main course.
Dora wasn’t sure it was exactly prudent to drink any more wine, but she wasn’t driving, and she really was quite enjoying herself. Griffin was genuinely interesting as he told her some of the funnier stories of his travels, and she didn’t want to refuse the wine and so put a dampener on their evening. Even Derry, as he wandered about the place, didn’t seem quite as big and frightening as he had earlier. In fact, he seemed to have decided he quite liked her, coming to lie on the carpeted floor at her feet.
‘Five feet nothing, and yet you seem to have some sort of power over rogue males,’ Griffin murmured thoughtfully.
Dora gave him a sharp look, searching for some sort of hidden meaning in his comment—or one that wasn’t so hidden! There was no doubting that Griffin was male, a fact that her racing pulse had been telling her all evening, and as for rogue—he was the most unorthodox man she had ever met! He had made no effort to dress for dinner, and was still wearing his denims. He’d swapped his black tee shirt for a green one, which seemed to darken the colour of his eyes, adding to their enigmatic depth. Those eyes combined with that over-long blond hair made him very much a ‘rogue male’ himself. But perhaps that wasn’t what he had meant…?
