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have second thoughts about the wisdom of what she was doing.
    After all, it was far from sensible behaviour to go off into the blue with a man she scarcely knew, a man who, though he had talked about a housekeeper and a guest room, had a reputation as a Casanova.
    As though he sensed her sudden unease, he glanced sideways at her in the weird, unearthly light from the dashboard.
    ‘Something wrong?’
    ‘No, not really …’ she mumbled.
    ‘I thought you might perhaps be regretting your decision to come?’
    Her silence effectively answered his question.
    ‘What are you afraid of? That I might turn out to be a homicidal maniac?’
    ‘Of course not!’
    ‘Then you’re scared I’ll twirl an imaginary moustache and whisk you off into the woods like some pantomime villain?’
    ‘Hardly.’
    ‘But that’s closer to the mark?’
    Once again her silence spoke for her.
    He sighed. ‘I frankly admit that if you do want to share my bed I’ll be delighted. But, if you don’t, then you’ll be as safe as if you were in a nunnery.’
    Though his tone was quizzical, her every instinct told her that he spoke the exact truth.
    More seriously, he went on, ‘If I haven’t managed to set your mind at rest, and you really don’t trust me, say so at once and I’ll be happy to turn round and take you home.’
    ‘I do trust you. Implicitly,’ she added.
    ‘Thank you for that.’
    He drove in silence for a while, then as they took the road that climbed steadily into the mountains he slanted her a glance.
    She was asleep, her thick lashes making dark fans on her high cheekbones, her lovely mouth slightly parted. She looked both alluring and vulnerable, and he felt a strong urge to stop the car and kiss her.
    When they reached Hallgarth and drew up in the pool of light cast by the porch lantern, she was still sound asleep.
    Reluctant to disturb her, he left her where she was while he took her case and holdall up to the pleasant but seldom-used guest room.
    Returning to the car, he lifted her out carefully and carried her up the hickory staircase. Laying her down on the bed, he removed her sandals before settling her dark head on the pillow and pulling up the lightweight duvet.
    He had half-expected her to stir and open her eyes, but she remained soundly asleep until he finished his ministrations and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
    When Caris awoke, she opened her eyes to a large, pleasant room with light modern furniture and apricot walls. A room that was totally strange to her.
    Two long windows hung with fine muslin curtains looked out over well-tended lawns and colourful flowerbeds to a group of white wooden chalet-type buildings. Through a vine-hung trellis she could just glimpse the blue waters of a swimming pool.
    For a moment or so she was at a complete loss, with no idea where she was or how she had got there.
    Then it all came rushing back—the magical evening she had spent with Zander and his invitation to spend the night at his house.
    So that solved the mystery of where she was; she was in Zander Devereux’s guest room. But the combination of tiredness and alcohol had zonked her so completely that she had no recollection of the journey, or of arriving here.
    She was still wearing her dress, and her jacket was hung neatly over a nearby chair. Her evening bag was lying on the bedside table.
    She must have his housekeeper to thank.
    Wondering how long she had slept, she looked at her watch a little blearily and found it was mid-morning.
    She still felt slightly muzzy from the unaccustomed drink, but a refreshing shower would help to clear her head and set her to rights.
    Galvanized into action, she pushed back the duvet and swung her feet to the floor.
    After removing the bandage and cautiously trying out her injured ankle, she found it was less painful than she had expected and she could just about walk on it with care.
    The pale grey carpet was soft as smoke beneath her bare feet as she crossed to where her