Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous (6 page)

‘You can always wait downstairs while I go and take a look upstairs,’ she reasoned practically.

‘You might have a sudden urge to try one of the four-poster beds!’ Jordan teased.

‘Oh, give it a break, Jordan,’ the little redhead growled.

He shrugged. ‘I can’t see any point in you staying on here if I can’t make life uncomfortable for you.’

Neither could Stephanie at the moment, but she lived in hope that she might eventually be able to change Jordan’s mind about accepting her professional help. In the meantime, getting him to take a walk with her was better than nothing.

‘I’ll just go upstairs and get my thicker jacket. It’s quite cold outside for October.’

‘If that was your subtle way of telling me that I need to wrap up warm too, then I strongly advise you not to treat me like a child,’ Jordan told her.

‘I wasn’t treating you like a—’ She stopped, frowning as she realised that was exactly what she had been doing. In an effort, perhaps, to try and keep their relationship on a professional footing rather than the flirtatious one Jordan kept reducing it to with his questionable remarks. ‘I—’ She broke off again as the telephone began to ring.

Well … one of them. There was an extension for the landline on the desktop, as well as two mobiles—one black and one silver. Stephanie could understand the landline, but who needed two mobiles, for goodness’ sake?

Jordan picked up the black mobile, checking the caller ID before taking the call. ‘Hi, Crista,’ he said, and he turned his back on Stephanie to look out of the window.

Stephanie stared at the broad expanse of that muscled back, at the way the white T-shirt stretched tautly over his shoulders, and debated whether she should go or stay. The call was obviously private. From Crista Moore, the woman Jordan had been reportedly involved with before his accident.

‘Stay!’ Jordan barked as he turned and saw that Stephanie was about to leave.

‘Woof, woof! ‘ She wrinkled her nose at him before going ahead and leaving anyway.

Jordan found himself smiling as he watched the sway of those curvaceous hips and taut bottom as Stephanie walked down the hallway. She really was the most—

‘No, I wasn’t talking to you, Crista,’ he said lightly into the receiver as the caller queried his last comment. ‘Oh, just a—an associate of my brother’s,’ he said evasively, easily able to imagine the tall, slender blonde actress as she sat in her apartment in LA.

Of all the people Jordan had known before the accident, Crista was definitely the most persistent—calling him at least once a week to see how he was and when he would be coming back to LA. As Jordan had no intention of ever resuming their relationship, any more than he had immediate plans to return to LA, he usually kept those telephone calls short.

Even so, Stephanie was sitting at the kitchen table impatiently waiting for him by the time Jordan had ended the call and collected his coat. ‘Hmm, something smells good.’ He sniffed appreciatively at the saucepan he could see simmering on top of the Aga.

‘Soup for lunch,’ she supplied economically as she stood up to pull on a heavy black jacket. ‘No, I
don’t
see that as acting the housekeeper,’ she defended irritably as Jordan raised mocking brows. ‘For your body to be healthy you need to eat healthily, that’s all.’

He smiled. ‘So you’re saying you only made lunch because you consider feeding me a part of my treatment?’

Those green eyes narrowed. ‘Exactly.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Jordan—’

‘Stephanie?’

She wasn’t fooled for a moment by Jordan’s too-innocent expression, knowing he was just trying to irritate her again. And obviously succeeding! ‘Why do you need two mobile phones?’ she asked, as she pulled on a pair of black gloves to keep her hands warm.

A slight frown appeared between those amber-gold eyes. ‘What?’

She shrugged. ‘I noticed earlier that there were two mobiles on the desk in the study, and I was just curious as to why you would need two when most people manage fine with just one?’

‘Maybe because I’m two people?’ Jordan finally replied, deciding that Stephanie McKinley was far too observant for his comfort sometimes.

She arched auburn brows. ‘Because you’re both Jordan Simpson and Jordan St Claire?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you change your name when you became an actor? Jordan St Claire is quite a charismatic name—’

‘Are we going for this walk or not?’ Jordan’s mouth thinned as he stepped forward and pointedly opened the back door for her.

‘We are.’ Stephanie nodded as she stepped outside. ‘So you actually consider Jordan Simpson and Jordan St Claire to be two distinctly different people?’ she persisted as he locked the door behind them before joining her on the path.

Jordan didn’t
consider
them to be anything—they
were
two distinctly different people! As different as night and day. And non-interchangeable. ‘Could we just get this walk over with, do you think?’ he barked, before striding off in the direction of Mulberry Hall.

‘Of course.’ Stephanie deliberately measured her strides so that they were in step with his much slower ones. ‘You never considered working in the St Claire Corporation?’ she prompted curiously.

It was a curiosity that was probably understandable in the circumstances. Except Jordan wasn’t presently
known for his understanding! ‘Have you ever heard of maintaining a companionable silence when out walking?’

Of course Stephanie had heard of it; it just wasn’t something that was ever likely to happen between herself and Jordan! An awkward silence, perhaps. An uncomfortable silence, even. A totally physically aware one, certainly. At least on her part … The scowl on Jordan’s arrogantly handsome face as he stomped along beside her didn’t give the impression that he was in the least aware of her, or anyone else for that matter.

‘Wow!’

Jordan leant tiredly against one of the four marble pillars in the magnificent hallway of Mulberry Hall as Stephanie gazed up in awe at the huge Venetian glass chandelier hanging down from the frescoed ceiling high above them. Jordan’s leg was aching too much from the half-mile or so walk over here for him to share her enthusiasm. Besides, he had seen the inside of Mulberry Hall dozens of times before.

‘This is … I mean,
wow!’

‘I get that you’re in awe,’ Jordan drawled dryly as he watched her wandering around the cavernous hallway, admiring the beautiful marble floor and statuary.

‘And you aren’t?’ Her eyes were wide with accusation.

‘Not particularly, no,’ Jordan muttered as he pushed himself away from the pillar to lean heavily on his cane and walk towards the main salon at the front of the house.

Stephanie trailed slowly along behind him, her eyes bright with pleasure as she came to stand on the threshold of the room, looking at the beautiful gold and cream
decor and delicate Regency furniture. ‘Has Lucan never thought of opening this up to the public?’

‘Definitely not.’ Jordan almost laughed at the thought of the expression of disgust that would appear on his eldest brother’s face if anyone dared to suggest he should open the doors of Mulberry Hall to all and sundry. ‘I don’t recommend that you suggest it to him, either—unless you want to feel the icy blast of his complete disapproval.’

‘But it seems such a waste.’ Stephanie frowned. ‘The building itself must be very old.’

‘Early Elizabethan, I believe.’

Stephanie crossed the room to lightly touch the beautiful ornate gold frame about the huge mirror above the white fireplace. ‘Did Lucan buy it completely furnished like this?’ There were ornaments and lamps on the surfaces of the many side tables, and a large dresser along one wall, as well as a beautiful Ormolu clock on top of the fireplace.

Jordan gave an uninterested shrug. ‘As far as I’m aware some of this furniture has been here for a couple of hundred years at least.’

‘I wonder what happened to the family that lived here?’ Stephanie murmured. ‘It must have been someone titled, don’t you think?’

Jordan nodded. ‘The Dukes of Stourbridge.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘It’s such a pity that so many of the old titles have either become extinct or fallen into disuse.’

‘Yes, a pity,’ Jordan drawled dryly.

‘Do you suppose Lucan intends to live here once he’s married? It was just a thought,’ she defended as Jordan gave a shout of laughter. ‘You say that he doesn’t
intend opening it to the public, but he must intend doing something with it, surely?’

‘Sorry, I was just trying to imagine Lucan married,’ Jordan gasped, his shoulders still shaking slightly. ‘No, I just can’t see it, I’m afraid.’

Stephanie couldn’t imagine the cold and self-contained man she had met the previous week madly in love and married, either. ‘I wonder why he bothered to buy it, then?’

‘I never try to second-guess Lucan, and I’d advise you not to bother trying, either,’ Jordan suggested as he turned away. ‘Do you want to see the pool at the back of the house now?’ he offered, when he saw Stephanie hadn’t moved from in front of the fireplace.

‘Philistine,’ she accused him good-naturedly as she followed him back out into the incredible marble hallway.

Stephanie had visited several country estates in the past that had been open to the public, but never an empty one that looked quite so much as if someone still lived there. There were paintings on all the walls, ornaments and antique mirrors everywhere, and there was even a silver tray on the stand in the hallway that looked as if it were waiting for visiting cards to be placed upon it. In fact the whole house had the look of expecting the master of the house—the Duke of Stourbridge—to walk through the front doorway at any moment.

‘Lucan has a caretaker for the grounds, and his wife keeps the inside of the house free of dust,’ Jordan explained when Stephanie said as much to him.

‘Even so, it seems a shame that no one actually lives here.’ Stephanie looked about her wistfully.

‘It’s really not the sort of place you could ever call
home, now, is it?’ Jordan scorned. ‘That you would ever really
want
to call home,’ he added.

Stephanie stood at the bottom of the wide and sweeping staircase that led up the gallery above, wondering how many beautiful women had stood poised at the top of that staircase, in gowns from the Elizabethan period to now, to be admired by the men they loved as they floated down those stairs and into their waiting arms. Dozens of them, probably. And now Mulberry Hall stood empty, apart from the caretaker and his wife who obviously lived somewhere else on the estate, when it should have been full of love and the laughter of children.

‘I suppose not,’ she agreed slowly, before following him.

Jordan had nothing more to add to that particular conversation. Had no intention of telling the already over-curious Stephanie McKinley that Lucan hadn’t bought Mulberry Hall at all, that he was in fact the current and fifteenth Duke of Stourbridge. Which consequently made
him
Lord Jordan St Claire and his twin brother Lord Gideon St Claire—a little known fact that his using the professional name of Simpson had helped keep from the public in general.

The three brothers had spent their early childhood growing up at Mulberry Hall. Until their Scottish mother had discovered that their father, the fourteenth Duke of Stourbridge, had been keeping a mistress in the village. After the separation Molly had decided to move back to her native Edinburgh, and had taken her three sons with her.

Obviously the three boys had come back to Mulberry Hall on visits to their father, but they had all much preferred the rambling untidiness of their home in
Edinburgh to the stiff formality of life at Mulberry Hall. Besides which, none of the three brothers had ever really forgiven their father for his unfaithfulness to their gentle and beautiful mother.

As a consequence, when the three boys had reached an age where they could choose to visit or not, they had all chosen not to come anywhere near Mulberry Hall or their father again. That aversion to the place hadn’t changed in the least when their father had died eight years ago and Lucan had inherited the title.

They had all had their own lives by then. Lucan in the cut-throat world of business, Jordan in acting and Gideon in law. None of them had needed or wanted the restrictions of life at Mulberry Hall. Although it had so far proved an invaluable bolt-hole for Jordan after he had felt the need to leave the States in an effort to elude the press that still hounded his every move months after the accident.

‘You wouldn’t even realise this was here from the front of the house.’ Stephanie stood at the edge of the full-length pool to look admiringly at the surrounding statuary and greenery that made up the low and heated pool room built onto the back of Mulberry Hall.

‘I think that was the idea.’ Jordan made no effort to hide his sarcasm.

She shot him an impatient glance as she slipped off her jacket in the heat of the room. ‘It’s really warm in here, and the water looks very inviting; are you sure you won’t change your mind about going for a swim?’

He quirked a wicked brow at her. ‘I might consider it if you intend skinny-dipping.’

‘Stop changing the subject, Jordan.’ Stephanie rounded on him. ‘You have the ideal facility here for gently exercising your leg, and yet you refuse to use it.’

‘Because I don’t want to exercise my leg—gently or otherwise,’ Jordan stated firmly.

‘Why not?’

‘And you accuse
me
of being stubborn!’ His eyes glittered deeply gold.

‘That’s because you are!’

‘And you really think that your constant nagging on the subject is going to make me change my mind?’ Jordan said.

Stephanie gasped. ‘I do not nag!’

‘Yes. You. Do.’ The two of them were now standing almost nose to nose as Jordan glared down at Stephanie and she raised her chin in challenge. ‘Oh, to hell with this! ‘ He threw his cane down onto one of the loungers that surrounded the pool, then pulled Stephanie hard against his body before bending his head and savagely claiming her mouth with his.

The forceful kiss was so unexpected that she didn’t even have time to resist its sensual pull as her lips parted beneath Jordan’s, her coat slipping from her fingers as she moved her hands up to clasp those wide and muscled shoulders in an effort to keep her balance.