The Deserving Mistress. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
frowned up at him, still not quite awake, but aware enough to view his kindness—and the man himself!—with suspicion. The fact that his surmise had obviously been a correct one wasn’t in question—but his response to it certainly was.
‘And why should that bother you, Mr Marshall?’ she prompted warily, her sleepy state fast disappearing now as she frowned up at him suspiciously.
‘Stop dithering, woman, and tell me where the plates are so that I can serve this stuff before it goes cold!’ He put the bag down on the table in front of her.
‘Second cupboard on the right,’ she supplied somewhat dazedly. Plates, he had said. In the plural. Surely this man didn’t intend sitting down to dinner with her?
But as he set out two places on the table along with the two big plates, and then commenced to put out the cartons of Chinese food, it appeared that was exactly what he intended doing!
‘Er—Mr Marshall—’
‘Could we get something clear right now, May?’ He straightened, looking down at her with narrowed eyes.
She stiffened warily, wondering exactly what he was going to say. ‘Yes?’
He nodded abruptly. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons for being deliberately rude to me—I’m sure you think you have,’ he stressed firmly as she would have protested. ‘But I have no intention of sitting down to dinner—a dinner that I actually brought here, remember?—with someone who insists on calling me “Mr Marshall” in that unfriendly tone.’ He raised dark brows pointedly.
May’s cheeks warmed at the accusation. She was being deliberately rude, there was no denying that. But he was being deliberately friendly, which was just as unacceptable!
‘Okay?’ he prompted determinedly.
May looked up at him unblinkingly, wanting to tell him to go away, and to take his dinner with him. But the smell of the food was so tempting, her mouth watering at the mixture of aromas that was wafting up from the array of cartons he had put out in the middle of the table. If she told him to go away, he would probably take all this wonderful food with him!
‘Okay,’ she accepted abruptly. ‘Although—’
‘Okay will do for just now,’ Jude cut in derisively. ‘Eat,’ he added curtly, sitting down at the place opposite her.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had ordered her about in this way. Probably not since her father had died a year ago, she recognised frowningly. But anyone less like her father—or, indeed, a father-figure—than Jude Marshall, she was less likely to meet!
For one thing she was completely aware of him as the two of them helped themselves to the food, of the slender strength of his ringless hands, the dark hairs that began at his wrist and probably covered his arms and chest, of the way his dark hair fell endearingly across his forehead unless pushed back by an impatient hand, of the piercing intelligence of those silver-grey eyes, of the dark shadow at his jaw that implied he probably had to shave twice a day, but had omitted to spend time on that second shave today.
Because he had chosen to drive out here and bring her dinner instead? Probably, she acknowledged slightly dazedly. In fact, she found it difficult to believe at all that she was sitting here eating a Chinese take-away with Jude Marshall, of all people!
‘This is very good, thank you,’ she told him huskily, the hot, tasty food more welcome than she had even imagined. And it had been supplied by Jude Marshall, a man she considered to be her enemy…
He looked across at her, eyes gleaming silver with amusement. ‘How hard was that to say?’ he mused dryly.
‘Very,’ she confirmed with a rueful grimace. ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from something? Or someone?’ she added frowningly.
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ He shrugged dismissively.
May gave him a quizzical look. Did that mean there wasn’t someone waiting for him back at his hotel? Or that the person that was waiting for him wasn’t important enough for him to bother rushing back to?
Jude frowned as he saw her looking at him. ‘What did I say now?’ he prompted impatiently.
‘Nothing,’ she dismissed abruptly, deliberately turning her attention back to her food.
Although she was completely aware of the fact that he was still looking at her. If she was honest—and she usually was—she had to admit she had never been so aware of another person in her life before.
Just as she felt sorry for whoever—possibly?—might be waiting for him back at his hotel; it would be awful to be so unimportant to this man that his having dinner with a scruffy female farmer took priority. Even with the buying of this farm as the incentive.
‘I spoke to Max earlier this evening.’
May looked up at him sharply, but his bland expression was completely unenlightening. She moistened her lips before speaking, choosing her words carefully, deliberately infusing a lightness into her tone. ‘Did you tell him the two of us have met—finally?’ she couldn’t resist adding dryly.
Jude sat back, regarding her derisively. ‘Should I have done?’ he drawled.
He was doing it again—answering a question with a question.
Because he knew damn well that she would much rather Max, and consequently January, didn’t know of his presence in the area, or that he had already introduced himself to her—but especially that she was managing alone here on the farm.
January had had a pretty awful time of things at the beginning of the year, had been caught up in the sick workings of a stalker’s mind, May much relieved when her sister had become engaged to Max, even more pleased when he’d suggested taking her away for a few weeks’ holiday to get over the experience.
But she had no doubts that, were January to learn of Jude Marshall’s presence here, of the fact that May was alone on the farm, her sister would insist on coming back on the next available flight!
‘Well?’ she prompted impatiently.
Jude gave a rueful shake of his head as she neatly turned the tables back on him. ‘You’re right—we could go on like this all night, returning a question with a question!’
‘Not all night, no,’ May assured him scathingly. ‘Tonight I intend going to bed early, very early—and alone,’ she added so that there should be no more mistakes concerning that particular subject! ‘In fact—’ She broke off frowningly as a knock sounded on the door, shooting Jude Marshall an accusing look.
‘January would hardly knock to come into her own home,’ he easily read the accusation in that look—and the reason for it.
Which still didn’t tell her whether or not he had mentioned to Max that he had decided to come here himself as he and Will had failed to acquire the Calendar farm for him. But, then, even on this short an acquaintance, May already knew that Jude Marshall was decidedly economical in providing any sort of information about anything.
May stood up as a second knock sounded on the door. ‘We’ll talk on this subject more once I’ve dealt with my visitor,’ she warned before moving hurriedly to the door, intending to make it very clear to this man before he left this evening that January was not to be worried by the situation here.
And ‘situation’ it certainly was rapidly becoming, she decided dazedly as she opened the door to find David Melton standing on her doorstep.
Keen on amateur dramatics, May had joined the local society a couple of years ago, only to be spotted by David Melton, a renowned film director, when he’d come to visit his sister’s family for Christmas and spotted May as she’d performed in the local pantomime.
To her surprise he had offered her a part in the film he was to shoot in the summer, if the screen test he offered proved to be successful. It had. But, for very personal reasons of her own,