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responses to Jordan’s complaints had left him in little doubt as to his big brother’s displeasure at the call.
    ‘Then maybe he should have thought of that before he sent you here without asking me!’ he snarled.
    Stephanie gave a dismissive shrug as she helped herself to one of the deliciously buttery croissants. ‘He obviously completely underestimated just how rude and unreasonable you’ve become.’
    Jordan’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘No doubt you took great pleasure in enlightening him.’
    ‘I didn’t need to after you had called him at such a ridiculous hour to complain.’ Stephanie took a bite of the butter-and honey-covered croissant, almost groaning at the sensory pleasure she experienced. After being assailed with the delicious aroma of the croissants, first in the supermarket and then on the drive back to the gatehouse; they tasted just as wonderful as she had imagined they would. ‘Try one of the croissants, Jordan,’ she advised him. ‘They might help to get rid of your hangover,’ she added naughtily, before taking another delicious bite.
    It had been obvious from the used wine glass and the completely empty bottle of red wine she had found left on the table this morning that Jordan must have returned to the kitchen some time during the night. From the look of the dark shadows under his eyes and the pallor in his cheeks the red wine had done little to dispel whatever pain had been keeping him awake.
    Although he had at least brushed his hair and shaved this morning, his cleanly shaven jaw revealing its perfect squareness and the beguiling cleft in the centre. A beguilement that Stephanie resisted responding to by concentrating on the fact that he was also wearing aclean white T-shirt and faded jeans, hopefully meaning he wasn’t completely bereft of the social niceties, after all. Although she wouldn’t like to bet on it!
    Stephanie hadn’t slept that well herself the night before, aware as she had been of Jordan’s presence somewhere in the house, and discovering this morning that there was nothing she could eat for her breakfast—not even bread for toast!—hadn’t improved her mood.
    A quick telephone call to Lucan St Claire, to confirm that she had arrived safely and so far hadn’t been bodily thrown out into the Gloucestershire countryside, had resulted in his informing her that Jordan had already telephoned him during the night with the same news. Although in Jordan’s case it had obviously been in the nature of a complaint. A complaint that the older St Claire brother didn’t appear in the least concerned about. In fact, his comment had been the one Jordan had predicted—that any response from Jordan was better than the uninterest he normally showed to everything and everyone nowadays.
    Stephanie waited until Jordan had taken one of the croissants onto his plate, smothered it in butter and taken a bite before speaking again. ‘I decided to refrain from telling your brother that you had decided on sexual innuendo as the best way of getting rid of me.’
    Jordan continued to slowly chew the first mouthful of food he’d had for a couple of days, swallowing the buttery pastry before answering her. ‘Only because you knew Lucan wouldn’t be interested.’
    She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I’m just saving that complaint for another day.’
    Jordan decided there was a lot more to Stephanie McKinley than that unusually coloured hair and a tautand supple body. It surprised him how curious he was to know exactly what that lot more was.
    He leant back in his chair. ‘I should have asked last night whether or not there’s a Mr McKinley waiting for you at home.’
    She glanced down at her bare left hand. ‘No ring.’
    ‘Not all the married women I know wear a wedding ring,’ Jordan drawled.
    ‘That’s probably because the married women
you
meet don’t want you to know that they’re married,’ Stephanie pointed out.
    Jordan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t get involved with