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Managing. So easy to believe he was the person he’d always been when there was no one here to fool.
    The arrival of this girl had made him see how mistaken he was.
    Upstairs earlier…when she had asked him to unfasten her dress. That was the moment he had been forced to admit that the Orlando Winterton of a year ago was as dead and gone as his brother.
    The old Orlando Winterton had been a master in the art of undressing women. The smooth, effortless removal of every kind of feminine garment was something he had excelled at, like everything else. But upstairs just then he had been assailed by panic as his mind had conjured tormenting images of tiny buttons, delicate hooks, and he had opened his mouth to tell her he couldn’t possibly do it. The words hadn’t come. He’d been afraid to tell her. Unable to deal with sensing her recoil, as Arabella had.
    He swore with quiet venom.
    So, yes, he might be managing. He might be maintaining some semblance of a normal and independent life. But it wasn’t of any kind normality he recognised.
    ‘Hi.’
    She spoke quietly, but, momentarily distracted, Orlando felt the knife slip slightly and cursed again under his breath.
    ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
    ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
    Orlando felt anger rising inside him like acrid smoke.
    It’s a bit late for that.
    Hesitantly she came a little further into the room, and he could see that she had changed into something dark—the same sweater and jeans she had been wearing this morning, maybe? ‘I couldn’t find you. The kitchen was the last place I thought of looking.’
    ‘Really. Why’s that?’
    ‘I just thought that with a house like this you must have millions of staff. A chauffeur and a butler and all that—at the very least a cook.’
    ‘No.’
    His voice was sharp, and as if realising this he took a deep breath and dragged a hand through his hair. When he spoke again his tone was slightly softer, but he still gave the impression of making a huge effort to be polite. ‘I have a housekeeper who comes in daily, and is in charge of a team of people who look after the house, and I employ a lot of people on the estate. But other than that, no. I chose to live here precisely because I wanted to be alone.’
    Rachel came to a standstill in the centre of the room. He seemed to have placed an invisible exclusion zone around himself. Keep away.
    ‘In that case I’m sorry to intrude on you like this.’ Her voice was quiet, the emotion rigidly controlled. ‘It’s all such a nightmare, and I can’t quite get my head around what I’ve done, but I can see now how awkward it is for you too.’
    ‘You need to let someone know that you’re safe,’ he said curtly.
    Rachel felt a small glow of surprise at his thoughtfulness. ‘I have. I phoned earlier and left a message.’ No need to mention that it had been on her own answer service at her agent’s office, and that after she’d done it she’d dropped her phone out of the window and heard it crash into the shrubbery below.
    ‘Good. The last thing I want is an irate fiancé turning up and accusing me of abduction.’
    The glow was abruptly extinguished. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said stiffly. ‘If I could just stay for tonight, first thing in the morning I’ll…go.’
    Orlando clenched his fingers around the knife, steeling himself against the reproachful whispers of his conscience.
    ‘Fine. As I said before, there’s plenty of room. Just don’t be surprised if you’re left to yourself—I’ve got a lot on at work at the moment.’
    ‘Of course not. What kind of work?’
    ‘I have a private defence consultancy business, advising the MoD on all aspects of air defence,’ he said with an edge of sarcasm. ‘I also run the Easton estate and all its subsidiary companies. Would you like to see my CV?’
    Rachel felt the colour rush to her cheeks as she realised she’d strayed too far into forbidden territory. And been warned off.
    ‘I’m sorry,’