The Unwilling Mistress Read online

  March shot Will a last resentful glare before venturing out into the chilling wind, leaving it up to Graham Whitford to keep up with her if that was what he chose to do.

  He did, easily matching his strides to hers, despite being a couple of inches shorter than March.

  ‘He was only trying to be helpful, you know.’ Graham spoke quietly at her side.

  March had been so deep in thought—angry ones, directed at Will!—that it took her several seconds to take in what the other man had just said. But once she had, her mouth tightened ominously. ‘Most interfering people prefer to see their actions in that way, don’t you think?’ she bit out disgustedly.

  She really was not in the mood for this! Today had already been awful, everything such a shambles—to have to stand here and listen to this man’s learned opinion of work he should never have seen in the first place was just too much.

  And then there was Graham himself, a pleasant-faced man, who really shouldn’t have been put in this position, either.

  He gave a shake of his head as he followed her inside the lambing shed. ‘Will is the least interfering person that I know—wow,’ he suddenly breathed in a hushed voice, moving past March to stand next to a pen where a ewe was happily feeding her two newly born lambs. ‘Do they always do that?’ He watched in fascination as the lambs’ stubby tails wagged in ecstasy.

  March’s expression softened as she moved to stand beside him, arms resting on top of the pen, never having lost her own sense of wonder at this maternal bliss. ‘They do,’ she confirmed huskily. ‘Life is that uncomplicated for them,’ she added wistfully, overwhelmed with how complicated her own life suddenly seemed to have become.

  ‘March, I would like to put on an exhibition of your work.’ Graham Whitford’s gaze didn’t leave the ewe and her lambs as he spoke evenly. ‘With your agreement, of course,’ he added softly.

  Once again he spoke with such quiet calmness that it took March several seconds to take in exactly what he had said. But once she had, the angry colour flooded her cheeks as she turned to glare at him. ‘Really?’ she snapped sarcastically, giving a disgusted shake of her head. ‘And whose idea was that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, Will is responsible for sending me some of your work, of course, but I choose who to exhibit in my own gallery.’ The last was stated as fact, not arrogance.

  March gave another shake of her head. ‘Will must really be a good friend of yours. Or perhaps—’

  ‘March, I don’t—’

  ‘Or perhaps it was someone else’s idea, after all…!’ she finished determinedly as her earlier scepticism turned to a deeper suspicion. ‘Perhaps it was another “friend” who put the idea in your head?’

  Graham gave a perplexed frown. ‘I have no idea—’

  ‘I’m referring to Jude Marshall!’ she burst in accusingly.

  ‘Jude…?’ Graham echoed slowly, obviously familiar with the name.

  As she had known he would be! Damn Will Davenport. Damn him!

  She nodded abruptly. ‘You do know him, don’t you?’ she stated flatly.

  Graham shrugged. ‘I’ve been—acquainted with Jude, for several years, yes,’ he confirmed somewhat dazedly. ‘But I fail to see what he has to do with my wanting to exhibit your work in my gallery?’

  ‘Oh, please, do stop insulting my intelligence!’ March snapped disgustedly, at last knowing exactly what was going on here.

  Offer her an exhibition of her work, in London no less, and yet another Calendar sister was neatly out of the way. At least, long enough for Jude Marshall to step in and buy their farm out from under their noses.

  ‘What did he do, offer you money to exhibit my work for the few weeks it would take to distract me?’ she continued heatedly, hands clenched into fists at her sides, so angry now that she wanted to hit someone. And it wasn’t Graham Whitford!

  ‘Offer me—!’ Graham looked astounded at the suggestion. ‘March, I can assure you—’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother!’ she cut in scathingly. ‘I sincerely hope that you got one of them to pay your expenses for coming all the way up here—because you have had a completely wasted journey!’ She glared at him. ‘You see, I know that my work is rubbish,’ she scorned. ‘Innocently rural rubbish!’ she added for good measure, each word cutting into her like a knife.

  That much had become obvious to her during that short local exhibition—she wasn’t about to further humiliate herself in the capital of the country!

  ‘But—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t blame you,’ she assured Graham Whitford heavily. ‘Business is business, and all that.’

  No, she knew exactly whom she blamed—and one of them was sitting across in the farmhouse with May right this minute!

  She marched over to the door. ‘Make sure you lock the shed once you’ve had your fill of the newborns,’ she told Graham hardly.

  ‘I—but where are you going?’ Graham looked completely confused by the way this conversation had turned out.

  ‘To speak to your accomplice!’ Her eyes briefly glowed with her anger before she wrenched the shed door open, slamming it shut behind her as she stormed across to the farmhouse.

  How dared he? How dared Will Davenport do this to her?

  To offer to pay some poor little gallery owner to exhibit her work in order to get her out of the way and leave the coast clear for Jude Marshall to snap up the Calendar farm!

  It was worse than despicable—it was cruel and unkind. To have Graham Whitford come here, to offer her an exhibition, to give her hope that her work might be good after all, only for the exhibition to be a flop yet again, and in London of all places.

  This was by far and away the most hurtful thing Will Davenport had ever done to her!

  ‘March refuses to talk about the reasons behind it,’ May was telling Will frowningly as March burst into the room, bringing a blast of cold air in with her as she slammed the door behind her.

  But that blast of cold air, Will realized as he looked warily at March, was as nothing to the cold fury that her gaze shot across the room at him!

  He stood up slowly. ‘What have you done with Graham…?’ he said slowly, at the same time chastising himself for the heat of desire he felt as he watched her breasts quickly rise and fall in her agitation; this was most definitely not the time to feel desire for March Calendar!

  ‘Figuratively or literally?’ March spat back forcefully.

  ‘March—’

  ‘I should stay out of this if I were you, May.’ Will spoke gently to the elder sister as she appealed to March, his narrowed gaze remaining fixed on the younger sister. An obviously furious March. ‘Both,’ he answered March abruptly.

  Her mouth twisted into a humourless smile. ‘Literally I’ve left him looking at the lambs. Figuratively I’ve left him under no illusions as to what I think of him and his offer to exhibit my work. As for you—!’ She crossed the room in two angry strides, her arm moving up in an arc as she gave his face a resounding slap. ‘You’re despicable! Absolutely and utterly beneath contempt!’ Her voice shook emotionally.

  ‘March!’ May gasped her shock at her behaviour.

  Will’s gaze remained locked on March’s, his left cheek stinging painfully from her slap, his own gaze ice cold now as he met her heated one.

  A few seconds ago, as May had explained what had happened to March earlier today, he had been concerned and worried for her, but had hoped that what Graham had to tell her might help alleviate some of her worry. It seemed to have done the opposite!

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he ground out as she raised her arm a second time, easily capturing her hand in one of his, crushing her fingers as his grip tightened.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ she managed to gasp accusingly.

  He was hurting her! What the hell did she think she was doing to him? And he didn’t just mean that slap, either!

  His hand remained clenched around hers, feeling the fragility of her bones beneath his, but too angry himself at this moment to c
are. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ he demanded exasperatedly. ‘Didn’t Graham explain about wanting to exhibit your work—?’

  ‘Oh, he “explained”,’ she snapped furiously, her eyes flashing with renewed anger. ‘And I told him what he could do with his offer!’

  The angry tension faded from Will’s body as he slowly released her hand, utterly perplexed now. ‘You told him—’

  ‘What he could do with it,’ March repeated scornfully, her crushed hand now cradled in her other one. ‘Do you think I’m completely stupid, Will?’ she challenged.

  ‘Not completely, no,’ he answered slowly, at a complete loss to know what he thought any more.

  He had thought, once March got over her annoyance with him for having sent some of her paintings to Graham in the first place, that she would be over the moon about Graham’s proposed exhibition of her work. Far from being over the moon, March was more angry than ever. He didn’t understand her response. Any more than he understood March herself, he acknowledged heavily.

  ‘I’m not even a little bit stupid where you’re concerned, Will Davenport,’ March told him scathingly. ‘But you can go back to Jude Marshall and tell him that none of his schemes to get us out of here have succeeded—’

  ‘Jude…?’ Now Will really was puzzled. Puzzled? He was more confused than he ever had been in his life before!

  ‘Tell him that the two remaining Calendar sisters are staying put,’ she finished hardly, looking at him challengingly.

  Will shook his head, this whole conversation a complete enigma to him. But he felt too emotionally battered at this moment to try and unravel it.

  He turned to May, a May who looked even more bewildered by this situation than he felt. ‘I’m really sorry about this, but I think, in the circumstances, that it might be for the best if I leave,’ he told her huskily.

  ‘Yes—go,’ March agreed scathingly.

  ‘I meant that I leave altogether.’ Will still spoke to May, too angry himself now to even look at March.

  ‘Move out of the studio. I’m sorry,’ he apologized again as May looked stunned by the way this conversation had turned out.

  And maybe it was a little drastic for him to move out. But at this moment—and for some time to come, he felt—the further he was from March, the better it would be for all of them.

  Away from her—well away from her!—he might be able to think straight, for one thing…

  ‘I’m the one that’s sorry, Will,’ May assured him softly, at the same time shooting March searching glances, glances that obviously yielded her no answers either. ‘But maybe it would be for the best…’ she allowed with a rueful shake of her head.

  ‘Yes—go,’ March looked at him scornfully. ‘Run away!’

  Will gave a weary sigh. ‘I’m not running away, March, simply removing my obviously unwanted presence.’

  She nodded scornfully. ‘And take your friend with you.’

  Will shrugged. ‘After what you said earlier, I doubt he has any more reason to stay here than I do.’

  She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Well, at last we’re all in agreement on something!’ she scorned.

  But there was something in her voice this time, a catch of emotion that made Will look at her sharply. Was that tears he could see in those beautiful defiant grey-green eyes? And if so, were they tears of anger or distress? As he could see no reason for March to feel the latter, he could only assume—

  ‘I was a fool ever to think you might be different, Will Davenport.’ She shook her head as she looked at him, the tears shimmering on her lashes now. ‘A stupid, stupid fool,’ she added self-disgustedly before turning on her heel and running from the room.

  He could hear the sound of her feet moving rapidly up the stairs, followed seconds later by the closing of a bedroom door.

  The silence she left behind her in the kitchen was filled with a tension so intense that even the clock could be heard ticking.

  May’s breath left her in a shaky sigh. ‘Whew,’ she murmured ruefully. ‘I’m so sorry, Will.’ She looked across at him appealingly. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think all of that anger was caused by you,’ she added with a grimace.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘It isn’t,’ he stated flatly.

  May looked upset by his answer. ‘She’s just very upset about losing her job earlier,’ she explained pleadingly. ‘I was telling you before that I don’t even know what really happened there; March just arrived home shortly after lunch to say that Clive Carter had paid her a month’s salary and told her to leave.’

  Will knew all that, had been as concerned earlier as May obviously was as they’d talked while March and Graham had been checking on the lambs. Especially as Will could probably guess at least some of the reason Clive Carter had dismissed March so arbitrarily—he hadn’t forgotten that conversation he had had over lunch with March last week about the buying of property under its market value and then selling it on at a later date for a large profit. Either March had confronted Clive Carter with what she knew, or the man had found out that she knew. But, either way, Carter had decided to remove the problem by dismissing March.

  But all of that was really irrelevant now. There was nothing Will could do to help—more to the point, nothing March would want him to do that might help. She had made it more than obvious a few minutes ago that she didn’t consider anything he did to be in the least helpful.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m really sorry about this, May, but I—’ He broke off as Graham came into the kitchen. ‘How were the lambs?’ he prompted his friend ruefully—goodness knew what March had said to him while they’d been outside together!

  Graham had initially viewed March’s work as a favour to him, although after looking at them it had obviously been Graham’s own decision to offer March the showing in his gallery. From the little March had told him, his friend had had his offer very firmly thrown back in his face. Graham must be wondering what on earth he had walked into the middle of!

  Graham gave a quizzical smile. ‘Puzzling.’

  Will nodded, grimacing. ‘I thought they might have been!’

  ‘But very interesting,’ Graham added lightly as he came further into the room.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Will acknowledged heavily, wishing he had never seen March’s paintings, let alone involved Graham.

  ‘Hmm.’ Graham nodded consideringly. ‘Would anyone care to explain to me why it is that March thinks I’m offering to exhibit her paintings because Jude Marshall is paying me to do so?’ He looked first at Will, and then at May, obviously hoping that one of them would be able to enlighten him.

  Oh, he could enlighten Graham, all right, Will acknowledged with rising fury as all of March’s obscure references just now suddenly made complete sense.

  That little—!

  How dared she?

  Did she really think that he had conspired—that he would have been part of some plan to—? No, not part of it, the instigator of it!

  Damn it, March had gone too far this time.

  Way too far!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘GO AWAY, May, please,’ March groaned as her bedroom door opened, lying down on the bed, her face buried in the pillow. ‘I really don’t want to talk about this just yet,’ she added emotionally.

  ‘You may not want to talk about this,’ Will Davenport was the one to answer her forcefully, standing by the bed glaring down at her in obvious fury as March spun quickly over to look up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. ‘But I certainly do!’ he added grimly, his eyes a pale wintry blue.

  March hastily rubbed away the tears from her cheeks, sitting up to look at him. ‘And you’re used to getting your own way, aren’t you?’ she said dully. ‘You and Jude Marshall.’

  His face darkened ominously. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, March,’ he ground out furiously. ‘Jude Marshall is not the monster you’ve built him up to be in your mind. And neither am I,’ he added grimly.


  Her eyes widened at this last statement. Will wasn’t a monster to her, many other things, but never that.

  She had looked at him downstairs a few minutes ago, the marks of her fingers still livid on the hardness of his cheek, and known that she loved him. Irrefutably. Irretrievably. Irrevocably!

  And to know that she loved him in spite of everything, to know that there was no future for them, was breaking her heart into a thousand pieces.

  ‘I—’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet, March,’ Will told her harshly, his eyes glittering angrily. ‘You’re very fond of having your say.’ His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Now it’s my turn.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Okay.’

  He gave a pained grimace. ‘A quiet, acquiescent March Calendar—amazing! I suppose that it’s too much to hope that it might last…?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘Probably,’ she conceded heavily.

  He gave a humourless smile. ‘“She was poor but she was honest.” That was just one of those meaningless quotes, March,’ he added disgustedly as her eyes flashed resentfully. ‘Does everything have to be a minefield with you, March?’ he added wearily. ‘Every word weighed and measured before spoken in case it causes you insult?’

  Was that really how it was when talking to her? March wondered frowningly. Had she become so prickly, so defensive, that everyone had to be careful what they said around her? Or was it only Will who felt that way…?

  ‘Never mind.’ He gave an impatient shake of his head.

  ‘I’m well aware that nothing I do or say in the next few minutes is going to make the slightest difference to your opinion of me—’

  ‘Then why bother to say it?’ she put in softly.

  ‘Because it will make me feel better!’ Will answered her forcefully, beginning to pace up and down the bedroom. ‘May told me what happened to you at work today—’

  ‘She had no right!’ March flared; the fewer people who knew what had happened at the estate agency today, the better!

  ‘She had every right, damn it!’ Will turned on her angrily. ‘She’s your sister; she’s worried about you.’